Dragon Rider
by hamillo
Summary: It began like any other hunting trip, but events elsewhere would change his life forever. A re-imagining of the original story, with an attempt at more logical world-building.
1. Prologue: A Fly in the Ointment

**Author's introduction:**

The idea for this story came from reading the original. In short, I felt that there were some very cool ideas in the original, but that they had often been poorly thought out; included solely because they were cool, without any real attempt to justify them in-universe.

This story started out as an attempt to rationalise these ideas in a way that makes sense from an in-universe perspective. It has since grown into a very different beast, as shall be seen as it develops.

The best way to describe this would be as a re-imagining of the original. It is a different take on the same general idea, with the same characters and basic premise.

PS. I like reviews. Reviews make me happy and a happy Hamillo is a quick-updating Hamillo. ;-)

Disclaimer: 

Copyright to the Inheritance Cycle is owned by Christopher Paolini etc etc, blah blah blah, you get the picture.

I hope that you enjoy it.

**Prologue: A Fly in the Ointment**

It was just before dawn. The land was dark, with that strange lightness in the night time sky that appears in the east just before sunrise. A last few stars were still visible, defying the dawn, as Eragon slipped out of the cottage that he shared with his father and brother. Leaving before dawn would allow him to be well into the woods by sunrise, make some kills and get back to help with the farming. Out of the three of them, he was the best shot and over the years had started to account himself a fair hunter.

He was still a boy, tall and skinny, not yet fleshed out. His hair was brown and his eyes green; just a hint of fuzz decorated his chin, marking his increasing maturity. Although it was spring-time, he wore his extra shirt; the mornings still being cold. In his hand he held a longbow, and over his shoulder he carried a sackcloth bag which contained a few sundries, including a hunk of cheese, some bread and a few arrows; simple sharpened sticks with fire-hardened points and some feathers for fletching. The bow and arrows he'd made himself, although he'd persuaded his friend Bengil, apprentice to old Master Altard, the bowyer in the village, to give him an old bowstring from a broken longbow. The bow wasn't very powerful, nor the arrows very straight, but he could hit and kill a rabbit with them, even a deer, if he got close.

A few years ago, his hunting trips had merely been an amusement; done occasionally to supplement his family's rather boring farmer's diet with some rabbit or pheasant. Now though, they were becoming more essential. First there had been a famine, six years ago; that had wiped out a fair portion of their seed stores. They'd just started recovering from that when the tax gatherers started getting more demanding, taking a larger and larger proportion of the crop every year.

He made his way into the woods, moving stealthily between the trees. They were mainly pine, with little undergrowth. As he got higher, the trees started to thin out and the undergrowth. He did not move fast, animals noticed quick movement; but he went quietly, testing the ground for dry twigs or leaves that might give him away. As he went he laid down snares in likely spots; he would check them on his way back for catches.

Soon, he found his favourite spot. On one of the foothills, the trees stopped growing just before the summit. On the summit itself was a large stone outcropping, like a giant tooth growing out of the top of the hill. Eragon scrambled up it until he was perched on top. This gave him an unrivalled view of the whole valley and he got there just as the sun came up.

The valley was an odd shape. A few miles across at its widest point, it reduced down to a pass about a mile wide that lead down to the lowlands. Steep hills surrounded it on all sides. The village of Carvahall lay in almost the dead centre and various farmsteads were scattered around it, with his family's small one on the side nearest him, tucked against the hills on the side opposite the pass. The pale morning sunlight reflected from the mist that shrouded the floor of the valley, lending the view an ethereal air.

After his short rest he started to return the way he had come. Lots of wildlife was up and about now that the sun had risen and he soon came upon a rabbit in a small clearing, less than ten yards away, sitting there in the open. Eragon himself was still obscured by undergrowth and he froze, very slowly drawing an arrow and laying it to the bow. He raised it, drew and took aim.

* * *

><p>A hundred miles away, another hunt was going on. A group of fugitives ran through the woods on the other side of the mountains. There were about two dozen of them and they were all dressed in breeches, boots and padded jackets and were armed with slings; except for one of them, a woman, who carried neither arms nor armour and had a cloth bag. Their apparent urgency was at a contrast to their measured pace.<p>

The woman, Arana by name, kept turning to look behind them. Any normal observer would have thought this out of place; only another magic user would have seen what she was up to. What looked like a small gust of wind followed the party, but there was no wind. To Arana's magical vision, golden lines, looking something like sunbeams, radiated from every object, connecting them to every other object. By using magic to make these connections stronger or weaker, she was able to move any object that she wanted to, in any direction that she wished. The result was the illusion of wind, throwing up leaves, twigs and small clumps of earth. She made them settle down in specific orders, and when the 'breeze' had gone past, no sign of their trail remained.

They ran into a gully, cliffs rising to either side of them. After a hundred yards or so the cliffs ended; being replaced by leaf-littered slopes, thickly covered in bushes and plant life. They halted, various group members loading slings and disappearing into the undergrowth surrounding them to keep watch.

Arana collapsed with exhaustion, sweat running through her short, ginger hair, leaving tracks in the dirt that covered her freckled face. The group leader, called Roshald, a tall, dark man with a weathered face, crouched down beside her.

"Are you ok?"

Between pants, she replied, "I'm...fine. Just...need...to...rest. For...a...bit."

"That's fine, but don't take too long. They could very well be tracking us."

She nodded, pulling a water-flask from her bag to take a drink. The rest of the group were also taking some rest, pulling out food or drinking from bottles. An observant watcher would have noticed that through all this activity, they never lost their alertness, and never talked in loud voices.

Their caution was understandable. It was easier to hide in the forest than back on the grasslands and amongst the farms outside the city they were fleeing from, but the Empire's foresters were well trained and disciplined. They were well equipped, and their powerful longbows had spelt death to many a brigand or raiding wolf pack. They were also extremely skilled trackers and stealthy ambushers. They would find it very difficult to escape once the foresters were on their trail; their only hope was to get out as fast as they could and hope their trail would be undetected.

Arana reached into her bag and touched the item that they had stolen. The City's governor would be foolish to send anything less that foresters after them, and as soon as possible. It would be his head if the theft was discovered by his masters. To her knowledge, it was the last of its kind in the entire Empire. The caravan carrying it had been on a lonely stretch of road, miles from the City; with any luck, it would be a day or so before the theft was discovered at all.

After a short time, they were ready to go. Roshald made a sound that was something like a woodpigeon, to signal the lookouts to return, while the rest of the group packed up and got ready to run.

Arana nodded to the thick undergrowth in their path. "I'll be able to magic us a way through that, so it shouldn't slow us down much."

Roshald nodded. "That'd be helpful, although the trees will get thinner as we head further up into the mountains. It'll get much worse."

"That won't be a problem, but I won't be able to cover our trail at the same time. If they're following, they'll be able to see where we went."

Roshald grinned. "Ah, but they don't have the best magician in the world on their side. They'll be fighting their way through bushes every step of the way. And anyway, Tali's group will be meeting us up at Carmadhras Pass, so when we go through there there'll be a nice little ambush waiting for any pursuit. You only need to get us that far."

Arana smiled at the compliment, but was suddenly hit by a feeling of disquiet. She looked around, trying to identify the source. Then it hit her. "That's odd," she said. "There's no sound. The birds have fallen silent and there's no rustling of animals anymore."

Roshald looked at her in surprise and listened for a second. "You're right, but–"

"And the sentries aren't back either," Arana over-rode him, worry rising in her voice.

Roshald's eyes widened. "But that would mean–" He didn't hesitate, "Troop! Run!", but before anyone could take a step, an arrow took him between the shoulder blades and he dropped. More arrows hissed out of the undergrowth, felling more men.

Arana responded immediately. Using her magic, she exercised the full extent of her skill. The bonds within the air itself became visible to her magical sight as a sort of golden haze as she put forth the full extent of her magical skill. She whipped the air surrounding the group into a dome that surrounded the remainder of them. Several more arrows struck it and stuck fast, held in place by a thin layer of air that was momentarily as hard as steel.

Modifying her shield, Arana began to open small holes in it, and her companions returned shots. Arrows whistled in, sticking fast to the shield. Salvoes of hard river stones shot into the surrounding forest, rattling off tree trunks and hidden logs. A well aimed arrow shot through a hole in the shield and took one of her companions in the throat. Arana risked a slight weakening of her shield to divert some power into flattening large areas of undergrowth attempting to drive the ambushers from cover. One flattened bush revealed a forester, who immediately took three slingstones; one shattering his bow, while two more striking together nearly took his head off.

However, the foresters were not alone. As their companion revealed himself, Arana felt her mouth go dry. A tall man, with shoulder-length blond hair, he wore long red and brown robes; a sign of his status as an adept of the Shadolach, the elite order of the Empire's magical enforcers.

At his appearance, a volley of stones met him, but he stopped them in mid-air with a wave of his hand. Arana felt his will working on the shield that she had erected. She held the air in as strong a grip as she was capable of, but against him it was useless. The shield dissolved, creating a small breeze that gently buffeted her. At the same time, she felt more bonds of air wrap around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Grunts of anger from around her signalled that the same thing was happening to her companions. The battle clearly over, the ten remaining foresters emerged from cover.

The mage spoke, contempt dripping from his voice: "Well done little hedge wizard," he said, "you managed to get quite far before I detected you. However, now I have you. I would prefer it if you'd just give me the egg. It'd save me all the hassle of having to take it and it isn't as if you have any chance of stopping me."

Arana feigned surprise. "Egg? What egg? I don't remember any egg."

The mage sighed and crooked a finger. Arana's bag lifted from around her shoulders and in front of her face. She threw her power against him, tried to resist, fought with all her strength to keep control of it, but she might as well have tried to fight the tide. The bag's motion stopped and it hung in the air. With a flash of heat, it suddenly dissolved into ashes. They fell away; the contents remaining floating. The egg, the item they'd stolen, hung in the air. About a foot long, it was translucent blue and crystalline in appearance. In the middle, just visible with the daylight shining from the other side, was the shadow of a creature curled up inside.

Again, she tried to break his hold, but could not. She could feel his control on it, all around it, but when she tried to exert her own will and lever in, she could get no purchase. There were no weaknesses. She could see that he could feel her resistance, that it amused him. "You're stronger than you look, but not strong enough," he said. "Now, just for the inconvenience that you caused me, watch your companions die."

He raised his left hand and clicked his finger. One of rebels fell, dead. He clicked again; another fell dead. Arana felt despair well inside her. A sob in her throat, she battered again and again at his control, again and again tried to struggle against the bonds that encircled her. Tears ran down her cheeks as around her, her comrades, men who were her friends, dropped like puppets with their strings cut. As her hope died, Arana felt a hand grab her ankle, Roshald was not yet finished.

She glanced down and saw his lips move, vaguely hearing his whisper.

"_Take my strength, I'm dead anyway."_ She did not want to, but there was no other choice. Under her breath, she mumbled the necessary spell, tears flooding her cheeks as she did so. Power flowed through their connection and she felt Roshald's hand go limp as his last strength flooded into her.

She blasted at the mage's bonds, and felt them melt before her. In his eyes she read his surprise, followed by his realisation of what had happened. She had to finish this before he could recover. Even with her temporary boost, he was still stronger than her. She knew that she couldn't break his hold on the egg, but she wouldn't have to if she could force him to release it. Concentrating her power, she released a massive shock wave that blasted out at the surrounding rangers. The front ones were thrown backwards into the ones behind, and they all fell in a heap. The mage also was thrown backwards, and with his view of the egg temporarily broken his grip slipped. Arana focussed on it, forcing her will into the gap and levering with all her might. She felt his hold break and reached forward to catch the egg. She raised it above her head and spoke her focusing words, spending her last strength on the effort. A bright corona of white light erupted around the egg and seemed to contract into it. With a shriek of inrushing air, it disappeared and the egg was gone.

Arana collapsed, all strength gone. Looking up, she could see the foresters recovering, the mage approaching her. With a wave of his hand he lifted her upright and stared into her eyes with cold fury. Serenely, she looked back, far too spent to do anything else.

"You will very much regret doing that." he said through gritted teeth. He flicked his hand and she flew backwards, hitting a tree with punishing force. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she heard him shout at the rangers. "Bring her with us and keep her alive! Finish off the rest!" Then hearing faded.

* * *

><p>Eragon sighted in on the rabbit, giving the bow an extra tug and loosed the arrow. Even as he did so, a bright light appeared from the ground in front of him. The light itself grew and grew, its brightness seeming to burn into his head. There was an almighty blast and he was thrown backwards. Everything went white.<p> 


	2. Chapter 1: First Rumblings

**Chapter 1: First Rumblings**

Thought was the first thing to return; he wondered what had happened. Feeling was the second thing; he had a headache. He opened his eyes, but could see only dancing spots of light. Whatever that bright light was, it had obviously been magic.

This worried him. Eragon only ever stayed in the foothills of the Spine Mountains. The main mountain range itself was greatly feared by the people in the village, and for good reason.

In the Spine, and a lot of other countryside besides, there were areas of magical...weirdness. Places where the natural order of the world was turned upside-down, sideways, back-to-front and every direction in between. People had been known to enter these areas and never come out, or come out a hundred year later hardly aged, or come back a day later and aged by fifty years. Those who returned spoke of strange sights, rivers flowing up hill, even walking trees with human heads as leaves. The vast majority of the people never went there. They stuck to the safe roads and places that had been scouted out and found to be safe.

Carefully, he crept over to the site of the blast, his heart thumping, ducking to the ground at every sudden sound. In a small crater lay a crystalline, blue stone; translucent and about a foot long. Crouching down, he picked up a stick and gave it a poke. It rolled slightly, but gave no reaction. Heartened by this, he touched it with his hand. It was smooth, almost slippery in texture and gave off a slight heat. Nothing happened. Picking it up, he looked around, to see if there had been any more explosions. He heard nothing, aside from a slight sound of returning birdsong as the surrounding wildlife recovered from its shock.

Eragon was a boy of direct thought. The appearance had been magical, but the stone itself obviously wasn't. With a little hesitation, he put it in his bag. As far as he could tell, it was a giant jewel, which would hopefully fetch a nice price with some of the foreign merchants down at the market. Confident in this belief though he was, he was not that brave. With his decision made, he beat a hasty retreat down the hill, being very careful not to be hit by any more magically appearing stones. The snares that he had laid earlier were completely forgotten.

Dawn slowly burned off the mist in the valley as he made his way back to the farm. Despite having caught nothing, he felt light and happy and whistled to himself as he walked. As he reached the farm he could see that his father and brother were already hard at work.

His family and two others shared a large piece of common ground, about a hundred yards square, at this end of the valley. It was good land, relatively flat, on a long shallow downhill. On three sides it was surrounded by woodland, with a trickling stream on the downhill side. A shallow ford allowed crossing to the lane on the far side.

The three families, the Garrows, Sloans and Harleys, named after their heads in true Palancar Valley fashion, formed a small community, helping each other out when needed. Half a dozen pigs, belonging to all three families were rooting around at the far end of the field, near the edge of the wood, watched by Harley's youngest son Reny. Old Harley was out with the plough and ox and Garrows' chickens were scratching around in the yard. Eragon's elder brother Roran was in the middle of the field, helping Sloan's oldest daughter Katrina again. This seemed odd to Eragon (who would want to spend time with a _girl_?), but he knew Roran and he reckoned that he was just trying to get friendly with Sloan by helping his daughter, so that Sloan would butcher one of his pigs for the midsummer festival.

Roran saw Eragon and waved cheerily. He looked very similar to Eragon, heavier in build and not quite as tall, but with similar colouration apart from his brown eyes. On a nobleman they would probably have been likened to chocolate or something else rich and expensive. Eragon thought they looked like mud, and in a spirit of brotherly affection, often said so.

Returning the greeting, Eragon ducked into their cottage. Dumping his stuff down by his bed in the loft, being careful to unstring his bow, he returned outside. By this time, Roran had run over.

"Good hunting trip was it?" He asked.

"It was brilliant. I caught a rabbit" Eragon said.

"Wow! A whole rabbit? You hear that father? Eragon slew a mighty beast! That's very impressive, especially since it must have been invisible. How did you see it?"

Eragon just looked at him. Roran laughed uproariously.

"Oh no! It's the Gonny-gonny death stare! My eyes are melting! Meltiiiing!"

Roran collapsed onto his back, kicked his legs and lay still, with his eyes closed. Eragon took the opportunity to dive on top of him and Roran's breath left him in a great "whoof!" He grabbed Eragon in a headlock and the two boys rolled around on the ground, wrestling with each other. It ended with Eragon still in a headlock and Roran knuckling his head mercilessly. They separated, both laughing now.

Garrow approached them, his balding head shining with sweat in the morning sun. "Morning Eragon," he said. "An empty trip then?"

"Not completely, father."Eragon replied.

He fetched out the blue stone he'd found, and told them the story of finding it. Garrow was worried.

"You're certain that nothing else happened?" He said.

"I didn't see anything. There was just a flash and it appeared." Eragon said.

"It might not have been from the Spine. Might there have been a mage around there and you just didn't see him?"

"I suppose," Eragon said. "But I left pretty quickly and covered my tracks well. And anyway, we haven't seen a mage up this end of the Empire for years, and I bet they've got better things to do than follow me on a hunting trip."

"Do you really want to risk it? You know what happened to that man down in Palancar a few years ago who was accused of stealing from them."

Eragon hadn't been born then, but Roran had, on a rare trip to the city, and even now, twenty years later, he still winced at the memory. The sight of a man being chained to a post and then methodically turned inside out while he screamed in agony would do that to you.

Roran said: "I agree with Eragon father. There aren't many mages around. It's far more likely to be something strange from the Spine."

"Good," said Eragon. "In that case, I'll take it down to the village tomorrow and sell it."

"Eragon," Roran said. "How many stones like this do you think there are? The merchants will quite happily buy things they know to be worth something, like our produce, or gold or whatever, but they aren't going to buy a blue, egg-shaped lump of crystal. Who would be interested in such a thing? Could you see Lady Palancar wearing it in a necklace, perhaps?"

The image of the tall, thin liege lady with a foot-long blue stone hanging from her neck made Eragon grin to himself.

"Can I keep it then?" He said.

"Are you absolutely sure that there was no-one around?" Garrow asked in a tone of voice that showed the importance of the question.

Eragon met his gaze evenly. "I'm sure."

"In that case, then you may keep it" said Garrow. "Put it inside, then let's get back to work."

As Eragon turned away, Garrow had a sudden thought and called him back. "Eragon, I want you to stop hunting for a while."

Eragon's heart sank. "Why?"

"If it wasn't a mage, then it was the Spine. It could be nothing, or it could be that it is spreading."

"But then where will we get meat?"

Garrow's expression softened "Eragon, I'd rather live on vegetables and pottage forever than lose my son in the Spine. You can hunt around here, but I don't want you going into the hills. Now get on with you."

Sullenly, Eragon agreed and turned back towards the cottage. He didn't like it, but he could see his father's point.

He took the stone inside, feeling very annoyed with the whole world. His plan to sell the stone had been rejected and now he couldn't hunt in the mountains. As far as the stone was concerned, he would just take it down to the market in a day or so and try and get something for it anyway; he'd not actually been specifically forbidden to go. At least he could still hunt; he'd just have to see what the surrounding woods had to offer in terms of game. He placed the stone next to the straw filled sack on his sleeping pallet that served him as a pillow. Then he went to join his family at work in the morning sun.

* * *

><p><em>Tap-tap, tap-tap<em>. It was night and Eragon felt himself dragged from sleep by the strange sound. In his sleep addled state, he thought at first that someone might be breaking into the cottage, before it occurred to him that no-one would try to chip through a wall when they could just break the door down. Groggily, he felt around in the dark for the source of the sound until his hands fell on the stone. The chipping sound was coming from inside it; he could felt the vibrations. Hoping that the sound wouldn't wake the others, he picked it up and slipped down the ladder from the loft where he and his brother slept. Creeping past his father, who slept in the main cottage, he took it outside, past the two pigs which slept at the opposite end.

Outside was a full moon, which seemed unusually bright to Eragon's eyes. He could clearly see the dark silhouette of the chicken coop next to the cottage.

The sound continued, seeming to get louder as it did. Moving a short distance away from the cottage, he heard the sound of a badger sniffing around the back. He placed the stone on the ground, and saw it wobble in time to the taps. A small chip flew out from the surface, glittering in the moonlight and Eragon turned and grabbed a hoe that was in the lean-to next to the cottage. Whatever it was, he wanted to be ready. As he turned back, he saw cracks appear from the hole and spread round the surface of the stone. Then, with one crack, the stone shattered.

Lying in the wreckage was a lizard! It was about two feet long, half of which was tail. Eragon poised himself, holding the hoe in a fair imitation of the way he'd seen staff fighters do it in the village once. The lizard just lay there, as if it was dead. Feeling bolder, Eragon poked it with the hoe. There was no response, although Eragon could its sides moving as it breathed. It was evidently alive. Feeling bolder still, he reached out his left hand to touch it.

What happened next could be accurately described as a life-changing moment. As his finger made contact with the lizard, there was a flash of blinding light. It felt almost physical to Eragon, as if it had reached through his eyes and started shaking his brain around. At the same time, there was a terrible agony in his hand. It was almost unbearable, would have been, if not for the fact that it ended almost as soon as it began. Eragon felt darkness prick around the edge of his vision and felt himself fall and hit the floor. With a supreme effort of will, he managed to prevent himself from losing consciousness. Raising his head, he looked at the lizard. A tingle shivered its way down his spine as fear tickled him. Shaking off a wave of dizziness, he scrambled to his feet and picked up the hoe where it had fallen, pointing it at the beast as if to ward off a demon.

She was on her feet now, no longer exhausted. He could see her clearly, and trembled at what he saw. Her length was close to two and a half feet, of which just under a foot was tail. The last third of the tail was itself divided into three, with folds of skin between them. It whipped and flared around as she tried to maintain balance. She stood on all four legs and regarded him with a six inch long head that bore a resemblance to an angular, reptilian horse. What scared Eragon were the two additional limbs that protruded from around her shoulders, a little like the underdeveloped wings of a chick. Eragon knew of only one lizard that had wings.

"A dragon!" Eragon jumped backwards, away from the beast. "_A dragon_!" At the sound of his half-shouted exclamation, the creature turned and leapt at him. The shock knocked him flat again and she stood on his chest; her weight pressing on his breastbone. His right hand was trapped under the hoe; in desperation, he tried to shove her off with his still-throbbing left hand. This time there was no flash, but she turned and bit at it. As hot breath washed over his face, he knew that he was going to die. He closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, his face was being enthusiastically licked. It was an experience roughly akin to being rubbed with hot, wet sandpaper. "Hey! Get off!" He managed to free his right hand and used them both to lift her off. This time she did not resist and sat down on her haunches as he sat up. Wiping off his face with his sleeve he studied her. Her behaviour ran counter to everything he'd ever been taught.

Dragons were the inhabitants of legend, great fire-breathing and flying lizards. Tales abounded of the Dragon Riders, men and women of great power, who rode the mighty beasts. They were the stuff of fear, of tales to scare children. Eragon had grown up listening to stories of Brom the Bloody-handed and Saphira; of Draugnir Terrorflame the dragon and Morzan of the Seven Skulls, his Rider.

Dragons were supposed to be creatures of fear, immolating men with their flames. He held out his left hand and she nuzzled it; they were not supposed to act like this.

He got up, walked a little way and crouched down again, facing her. She watched him, not moving. He held out his hand and she came trotting over. Eragon remembered a cat that had lived in the village years ago, which had behaved in a similar fashion.

"But if dragons behave like cats, then you're just an animal like any other," he said.

The tension in his muscles relaxed. He felt relieved. She was still following him around like a baby bird, creatures which tended to think that whatever creature they saw first was their mother. However, now he had a problem.

"What am I going to do with you? I can't let Father or Roran see you; they were worried enough about a weird stone. If I tell them that it was actually an egg and they see you, neither of our lives will be worth living."

Other problems occurred to him as well. What did she eat? How much? He sat and thought about it for a bit, then turned as he heard a rustling sound near the base of the chicken coop. With a bound the dragon was off, bounding towards the sound. Eragon heard a muffled squeak, and then she returned, a dead rat held in her jaws.

Eragon smiled. "That solves that problem then." Looking to the east, he noticed the eastern sky beginning to lighten.

"I'll take you hunting. We'll see if you like rabbit as well. Just wait here." He crept into the cottage to grab his equipment and returned. The dragon hadn't moved.

* * *

><p>Arana opened her eyes and wished she could go back to sleep. Her entire body burned with pain. She was currently tied across the back of a horse, but from the feeling in her back she'd evidently been dragged along the ground for a good distance first. Even the impacts from the raindrops that pelted down from the sky felt like stings. Her entire body ached from the beating that she'd received. One of her legs was broken; she could feel the bone rub as the movements of the horse jerked it around. Jolts of pain shot up her leg every time.<p>

She craned her neck and through the rain thought that she could see soldiers. Whoever the mage was, he was still around as the raindrops stopped a foot or two above their heads. Only Arana, at the back, was unprotected. She felt hunger and thirst knawing at her. How long had it been since she'd last eaten? She licked at the water running down her face. It helped, somewhat. _Every bad side has its upside_. She held onto that thought. She would need every shred of optimism and strength that she could muster for the coming trial.


	3. Chapter 2: Life gets Interesting

**Chapter 2: Life gets Interesting**

The sun began its climb into the sky. Eragon was gliding through the woods surrounding the farms, looking for tracks. The dragon was proving herself to be extremely energetic. She was all over the place, sniffing at tree stumps and running around in leaf litter, throwing up great piles of leaves and sticks. This would have been extremely annoying to Eragon, he usually enjoyed the solitude, but she was also extremely good at hunting. He already had three rabbits on his belt from her efforts, and that did not include the two that she had caught and eaten herself. He repressed a chuckle as he watched her investigating a particularly large mushroom. In the light it was possible to see her more clearly. She was a sort of dark greeny-brown, with brown stripes running across her back along her entire length. This provided perfect camouflage in the shadowy forest. Even when not hunting she moved fluidly, avoiding sticks and dry leaves, that might give away sound, seemingly by instinct.

The growing light also allowed him to inspect his hand. Inscribed on his palm was a long, strange scar. Starting from the centre, it went up towards his index finger, and then swept round in a great spiral that ended halfway up his thumb. Around the inside of the line, there were strange flourishes that looked almost like flames, as if the entire scar was a long tongue of fire. It was strange, because as he looked closely, he realised that it was not very scar-like. A few years ago, Eragon had seen a merchant in the village from a far away part of the empire. The man had had a large number of dark brown designs drawn on his hands and arms, and his father had said that they were made using a plant called henna. How his father had known this Eragon had never found out, but his scar looked a lot like that, a dark brown colouring of the skin rather than a healed wound.

Eventually, he found a secluded spot with a nice convenient log and sat down. The dragon jumped up and lay down beside him. Eragon reached over and ruffled her ear stubs affectionately, being careful not to snag his hand on the small spines that started at the back of her head and ran down her neck.

"I can't keep calling you 'Dragon'," he said. "You need a name. Let's see. I could give you a legendary name, but the only legendary dragons that I know were monsters and you definitely aren't a monster. If you were a person I could name you after your parents, but looks like that's out as well."

Eragon frowned as he thought to himself. There were three main naming traditions in the Palancar Valley. He'd already exhausted two of the possibilities, naming after a famous hero or after a relative, which only left a third: Naming for personality or character traits. Normally, parents would choose based on who they hoped the child would become, babies having little personality to go on, but she'd already displayed quite a character. This made the choice easy.

"How about Spring?" She looked at him. There was no facial movement, but the impression he got was that of a raised eyebrow. "What? You hatched in springtime, and you're like the entirety of the season compressed into a small bundle, always jumping and running around. I've seen battling bucks with less energy. Spring is full of life. That's you." The impression that he got this time was one of dubious approval, if not outright enthusiasm. It would do.

* * *

><p>Mercifully, the rain had stopped. Arana craned her neck to take in a limited view of her surroundings. They had travelled a long way over the last day. There had been one stop where she had been given food, but that had been a while ago and hunger was eating at her belly. Her ripped clothes were unchanged, except for being more ripped, gently steaming in the warm morning sunlight.<p>

The company was down out of the hills now, marching along a road. There was a slight clatter as they stopped. Arana was cut down from the horse and stood unsteadily as she looked around. A few miles distant, she could see the city of Dras-Leona, where the egg had been stolen.

It was a large city, the capital of the region of Leo-Praesida. It sat on the junction of two major roads: The Spine Way, which ran roughly north-south along the western side of the Spine mountains, connecting the northern regions to the southern trading ports; and the Uru'baen Road, which ran from Dras-Leona westward to the Capital itself. The main curtain wall was 100 feet tall and of grey stone, interspersed with circular towers, encompassing an inner city that was over a mile across. Another smaller wall encompassed four great suburbs, each bigger than the centre, surrounding it. The outer wall was intersected by a great stone outcropping, upon which was build the Citadel. A mighty stone viaduct arched over the outer city from the inner wall to the gates situated halfway up the Citadel. The city was almost impregnable to armed assault, but had proven to be vulnerable to a stealthy raid, especially one supported by magic. A large number of farms and orchards surrounded the city; as well as being a centre of trade, it was also famed for its cider.

The mage was thanking and dismissing the foresters, who melted back into the woods, while a detachment of twenty mounted Imperial Legionnaires took over the escort. One of them quickly tied Arana's hands by a long rope to the back of the horse that she had been recently carried by. Evidently, she was going to walk the rest of the way. The mage came over, his poise and elegant robes at a contrast to Arana's shredded clothing and just-about-able-to-stand pose.

"So, Arana, are you ready to talk?"

Arana was shocked. "How did you know my name?" She demanded. An invisible blow smashed her mouth and she tasted blood, her tongue wobbling a loosened tooth.

"You will not take that tone with me." The mage continued levelly as if nothing had happened. "For your information, you're actually pretty famous. I realised who you were soon after your capture. You are the only living neophyte ever to join the Shadolach never to complete the training."

"What? Lots of people failed that."

"I did say _living_. All the others were killed upon failure. The manner of your leaving caused a bit of a stir. However, it matters not. I have you now and you will be punished for that as well as for your more recent crimes."

"So why not kill me now then?"

"Kill you? Eventually perhaps. You sent the egg away somewhere and I need to know where it is."

"Well I don't know where I sent it. I just got it away from you."

"You did, and very effectively too, but a mage always knows where they sent an object, if not the exact location, then distance and direction for definite." Arana couldn't stop herself from gaping. That skill was not one that she had learned at the Shadolach, so how did the mage know about it? Noting her expression, the mage smiled in a superior fashion.

"Nice try," he said, "but we know a lot more about magic than what we taught you. How you learned that skill will be another thing that you will tell me."

"I won't tell you anything. Gilead is many weeks' journey from here and you won't be able to interrogate me properly until you get there.

The egg will have hatched by then. I know the spells that were put on it and they wear off without maintenance. You're wasting your time. Better to just kill me now."

"You are more correct than you know. The egg has probably hatched already. But, little wizard, you fail to realise: Dragons do not grow overnight. It will be many years before it becomes a threat, if indeed it survives the first few days. I have many years yet to find and kill it, years in which you will, one way or another, eventually tell me what I want to know."

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Presently, the horses started up into a swift walk, forcing Arana to trot along behind. She had trained in Gilead for many years and knew exactly the sort of tortures that awaited her. Fear formed a knot in her stomach, its roots spreading weakness to all her limbs. Desperately, she tried to think of a way out.

* * *

><p>Eragon left Spring in the woods and spent the rest of that morning working with his family in the field. When it came time for their lunch break, they went inside. Over the meal, their normal food; the rabbit was planned to make a nice addition to the evening, Garrow spoke. "Eragon, I need you to go down to the village tomorrow to get a few supplies. Our spade is with the blacksmith being re-ironed, so you can pick that up and I need you to give him one of the hoes to do. Master Galstaff should be finished with the flour milling as well."<p>

"Yes, father." Eragon's simple reply was subdued. Garrow gave him an odd look, but said nothing.

He finished his meal and went outside. Roran and Garrow exchanged looks. "Do you think he knows?" Roran asked. A shadow passed over Garrow's weathered face.

"I don't think he does. Otherwise he would have said something. You know him; he isn't exactly the kind of person who is good at keeping secrets. There's something else bothering him."

Roran nodded. "I think so too. I'll try to find out what it is before I go. You'll be ok without me won't you?"

Garrow nodded, "Believe me, I understand your desire to see the world. I felt the same thing at your age. I'll be sorry to see you go, but you'll always have a home here to return to."

Roran smiled, and they clasped hands over the table. Having both finished their meals; they went outside into the sunlight. As always, Roran found that the light, after coming from the relative darkness inside, cheered him and lightened his mood. He had a sunny disposition, and something as simple as sunlight was easily enough to set his mind onto happier thoughts. Whatever came, he would face it without flinching. Even Garrow felt the midday light lessen the burdens that he felt on his old shoulders.

Eragon leant on the fence of the field, staring at nothing. He was at a loss. What should he do? By rights he ought to tell Garrow what had happened, but he didn't know what would happen if he did. Finding a blue stone and selling it would be one thing. A dragon was a whole different story. Regardless of circumstances and explanations, Eragon was fairly certain that if anyone in Carvahall saw him with a baby dragon, he would probably be lynched. And then the authorities would get their hands on him. The Palancar Valley was far from the centre of the Empire, and their little village was too far out even from the centre of the Valley for it to get much attention, but even the authorities here, lackadaisical as they were, would notice a dragon.

No. The best thing by far would be to tell no-one about the egg. No-one had been around when he'd found the thing and only his father and Roran knew now. He would pretend to take it to the village and sell it and that would be the end of it. Spring could live in the woods. She'd probably get bored and wander off. Either way, the problem would sort itself out. With an effort, he forced himself to lighten up, Roran and Garrow were approaching and it wouldn't do to look depressed.

* * *

><p>Night drew in. Out in the woods, Spring curled up under a bush, burying herself in some leaf-litter for warmth. Baby-like, her thoughts were not structured enough for her to express how she felt in any form of words, but vague feelings of abandonment pervaded. She wanted very much to see the strange creature that had brought her up here again. She liked being with him. He made her feel safe and protected. She could remember the way back, but the forest seemed dangerous at night, not like the friendly, fun place that it had been during the day. She'd be better to wait until the morning. She shivered slightly in the night time chill, and curled up more tightly, not daring to sleep, awaiting the dawn.<p> 


	4. Chapter 3: Cracks in the Masquerade

**Chapter 3: Cracks in the Masquerade**

* * *

><p>The next morning, Eragon had to forgo his hunting trip. The sun was just coming up, reflecting from the dawn mist as he and Roran left the cottage together, Roran coming to see him off. Suddenly, he thought that he heard a mewling. He looked around, thinking that it must be a cat. "Did you hear that?" He asked Roran. Roran looked at him oddly. "Nope, nothing."<p>

"Oh, that's strange. I thought I heard a cat."

"A cat? Eragon, just in case you've been living somewhere else for the last 17 years, we don't have a cat. Unless there's one living in your head, chasing the mice eating what's left of your brain."

Eragon gave him a flat stare. Roran grinned.

"Oh no! It's the Gonny-gonny dea -"

"Shut up! There it is again!"

He turned and ran round to where he thought the sound was coming from. It happened again, and he followed it around to the back of the cottage, where part of the forest came near to the boundary. The mewling came again. Looking closely, he spotted a shadowy shape lurking under some bushes. His heart sank.

"Spring! What are you doing here?" She ran out to meet him. Automatically, he reached his hand down and she nuzzled it. "You shouldn't be here. I'll be caught, we'll both be, with you this close to the farm. Get back to the forest!"

Spring merely crouched and looked at him pleadingly. Eragon could hear Roran coming round to see what he was up to. Putting more urgency into his voice, he tried again. Roran was getting closer. Desperately, Eragon tried to push her away, but she would not move. Thinking quickly, he picked her up and dumped her in his bag. Turning, he was just starting on his way back when Roran came round the corner.

"So, did you find your cat?" Roran's voice was jovial, with no hint of suspicion.

"Yep, her name was Flopsy and she says she wants to be your best friend. I told her that there wasn't much competition."

Roran grabbed him and knuckled his forehead. "Yeah? Well come on Jester, you need to go."

Eragon, very conscious of the weight in his bag, felt a little butterfly of fear, which quickly disappeared as Roran turned away. It came back almost immediately as Roran turned round "Do you still have the egg?"

Eragon thoughts ran like lightning. "Egg? What egg?"

Roran slapped his head, in what seemed like a very fake way to Eragon's now-suspicious eyes. "Oh, I mean the stone. It was kind of egg shaped, wasn't it? D'you mind if I have a look at it again?"

"Er, no, I'd prefer it if you didn't." Eragon replied

Roran gave him a level look for a second, and then turned away. "As you wish."

Eragon said goodbye to Garrow, and was completely unsurprised when Roran said that he was coming too. Garrow gave Roran a couple of copper coins to buy some supplies. "Be careful when bartering that," he said to Roran. "That's most of what we have. Get my money's worth."

Roran grinned to him. "Don't worry father. I'll get Eragon to threaten to break their legs. You know the fear he instils in people."

Garrow laughed and went back inside and the boys set off down the path towards the village.

* * *

><p>The day was bright and sunny, birds were whistling in the trees and bushes on either side of the track as they walked down the hill towards the village.<p>

Roran decided to wait until they were a little way down the path, out of all possible earshot, before he confronted Eragon. His little brother seemed nervous, twitchy. This corroborated what he thought, as Eragon never really showed fear. If his little brother looked a bit nervous, it was probable that he was terrified; or possibly feeling guilty. He said nothing, waiting, knowing what would happen.

Eragon could finally stand it no longer. "You know!" He burst out.

"Really? What do I know?" He replied, feigning innocence.

"You know about the egg, you know she hatched." Eragon's tone was accusative, passion writ large on his face.

At the noise, Spring poked her head out of his bag, where she'd been having a nice nap.

Roran drew his breath in sharply. He hadn't been completely prepared for his suspicions to be confirmed.

"I didn't know, actually," he said "Not completely. I knew something had happened. I thought it looked like a big egg when you showed it to us. I heard the chipping sound, and I heard you get up; oh, and I heard you talking outside. I noticed how the egg mysteriously disappeared. It wasn't there when I looked through your stuff while you were out hunting, and it isn't as if you'd have taken a heavy thing like that with you."

Eragon looked indignant at hearing that Roran had looked through his belongings. Spring growled dangerously at him. Roran ignored them both. "I then used what I knew to get you to admit the rest right now."

They both looked at Spring. Roran didn't need to say what the final proof was. "She's called Spring. She's a baby dragon," Eragon said. Spring looked at Roran and gave a big yawn. He reached his hand out and tickled her ear stubs, Spring shutting her eyes and making a sound very like a purr. Eragon seemed to relax slightly.

"So when were you planning on telling the rest of us about this dragon? Or were you just planning on keeping it a secret?" Roran asked, an edge of anger creeping into his voice.

"I didn't want to worry anyone. What would telling you about her achieved? The only safe thing to do would have been to kill her, and I won't accept that."

"So it didn't occur to you that anyone might come looking for her? That it might result in the deaths of all of us?"

"If people found out, we'd be dead anyway, whether you knew or not. The only way to keep us safe was to keep her secret. Publically taking a dragon into the village would get us all arrested and killed, you know that. An egg is one thing, but a dragon something else. No-one saw me find it. There might be people looking for it, but why would they search here?"

"Dragon-fire and ashes Eragon! Who gave you the right to control our fates? You'd be willing to risk all our lives over this creature? Without even consulting us? Who do you think you are?"

Eragon flinched, but did not retreat. "Look! I'm sorry, ok? But I can't countenance killing her, and I thought that if I told you, you'd panic. I originally wanted to leave her to live in the woods, but she came back. She isn't going to leave and I won't hurt her."

Roran's expression softened. He looked with pity on the younger man. Slowly, he reached his hand out again to the dragon. Spring shut her eyes and extended her neck, inviting him to tickle her chin. "Kill her, Eragon? Why would I kill her?"

Eragon was nonplussed. "What? So you've been chewing me out for the last five minutes because?"

Roran grinned and shook his head. "You can be so dumb sometimes. I'm not angry with you for keeping her alive, I angry with you for keeping her secret. You should have trusted us, Eragon. Aside from that, I think you're right. I don't think anyone knows where she is either. Together, we'll keep her secret. You'll have to tell Father when we get back though."

Eragon looked like he was about to refuse, but Roran put an edge back in his voice and said, "If you don't, I will. I'd quite happily risk my life for you, and for Spring, and I know father would too; but it has to be by our choice."

Eragon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, fine. I hope he won't panic about it."

"I think you'll find that he's tougher than you think. It'll all be fine."

"I hope so." Eragon relaxed and carried on walking down the path, Roran paced him. No longer needing secrecy, Eragon picked Spring out of his bag and she perched on his shoulder. Her claws dug in, slightly painfully, but he could tell that she enjoyed sitting there. Her head swept round, taking the vistas that had been unavailable to her from her usual twelve inches off the ground. He turned to his brother. "Thanks, Roran."

Roran smiled at his little brother. "You're welcome. You are the baby of the family after all; someone has to keep you out of trouble."

Eragon punched him in the arm. Roran ran off down the road laughing, Eragon in close pursuit with Spring clinging to his shoulders, chirping her excitement.

* * *

><p>As they approached the village, Spring returned to Eragon's bag, settling down to sleep off the rabbit that she'd caught on the way. The village was laid out around a oval shaped green, which had a large oak tree in the centre. The green was often uses for celebrations and festivals, and was also where the Empire's tax gatherers came to collect the region's contributions. It was bounded by the main street, unpaved, which ran out of the village and down through the Carvahall Pass, the gap in the hills, down to the Palancar Valley proper. The street was lined with the shops of various craftsmen and the houses of some of the richer farmers, whose fields and pastures surrounded the village. The Village Hall sat at the end of the green opposite the road's entrance, with the village stocks in front of it. The buildings were all of wattle and daub construction, with thatched roofs. Some of the more prosperous owners had found whitewash for their houses, which lent colour to the otherwise drab buildings.<p>

As the brothers entered, Roran called out greetings to various villagers as they went by, and stopped to talk to some of the craftsmen who had their shops there. He was well respected by people in the village, being especially attractive to various mothers with marriageable daughters. His friendly manner put people at their ease. Eragon occasionally felt jealous of his brother over this. He was not as happy around people and generally preferred his own company. His manner was a lot less friendly, and although people were polite to him, as he was to them, he was not liked in the same way that Roran was.

Roran sent Eragon off to pick up the flour from the mill while he himself set to haggling with the blacksmith over the cost of the spade. Eragon followed a small pathway from the village, up to a short rise where the mill was. The river running past the village had had a small off-shoot dug here, the flow of which pushed the big mill-wheel round. The mill itself was of stone with a lightly built thatch roof. The distance from the village might have made it inconvenient to use, but the danger of flour-dust fires made it a necessity. The mill had burned down at least once in the past, hence the stone construction.

Master Galstaff the miller came out to meet him. He was a short man with a balding blond head and a thin, wispy beard.

"Ho Eragon," he called, his voice friendly. "Here for your flour are you?"

"It's ready?"

"Yes. Come this way."

He lead him into a small wooden shed, set a little distance from the mill proper and pointed to a pile of full sacks.

"Those three at the front are yours," he said, pointing to three sacks marking with yellow coloured strings around them.

Eragon did not move. "Where is the fourth? You promised five sacks, with one as payment."

Galstaff shrugged. "Times is hard. I never _promised_ four sacks, and three is what you're getting."

"So you're just going to steal our flour? Is that it?" Eragon said indignantly.

At those words, Galstaff's demeanour changed. In the shadowed interior, he looked threateningly at Eragon. "Listen boy, I have no need to explain myself to you. I said three and I meant three. Now take them and go."

Picking them up, he started forward, forcing Eragon backwards into the daylight and threw the sacks to the ground of the yard. One of them burst open and flour spilled over the ground. Shaking with rage, Eragon struck him as hard as he could. Galstaff fell away, blood flowing from his broken nose like a fountain.

Galstaff's two sons, Harol and Mortin, large men who worked in the mill, came out at the disturbance. Eragon may have been impulsive, but he was not stupid. Picking up the sacks, he beat a hurried retreat back down the path towards the village. As he looked back, he saw the two men; one was helping up their father, the other was staring after him.

* * *

><p>Eragon bumped into Roran, who was just coming out of the blacksmith's, their spade over his shoulder. "Eragon. You're back."<p>

"Roran, we need to go. Now." Eragon said, with urgency in his voice.

Roran picked up on it and frowned. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you on the way, let's go."

"Eragon, we can't. You need to drop that flour off at the baker's and there's still some stuff to buy."

"We can come back. We need to leave."

Roran signed and followed him. They hurried through the village, Eragon constantly trying to go faster. Leaving the village outskirts, the path entered the woodland. Once out of sight of the village, Eragon slowed down. He said nothing, but Roran guessed something of what had happened.

"Does your urgency to leave have anything to do with the fact that you are carrying three bags, when father clearly said that there were four to pick up?"

Eragon nodded and carried on walking, saying nothing.

"There's blood on your knuckles. You hit someone."

Again Eragon nodded his confirmation.

"Three bags when there should have been four, and some sort of fight. Did Master Galstaff cheat you out of a bag?"

Nod

"And then you hit him?"

Nod

"And now you want to leave quickly because Harol and Mortin are both big men who could make mincemeat of you without trying, and they saw you leave?"

Eragon nodded again and looked about to say something, but before he could speak, Harol and Mortin stepped out from the trees at the side of the path and blocked their way.

"There you are," Harol, the more talkative of the duo, said. He pointed at Eragon. "We have a debt to repay to you."

Eragon bristled, but Roran stepped forward in front of him. "Calm down lads, please. There's no need to fight over this."

Harol held up his hands. "Oh, we're not here to fight. We're just here to pay our debt."

He pulled a knotted length of rope from his belt and swung it through the air. "A beating for a beating. You'll regret hurting our father."

Roran's eyes narrowed, and his voice turned dangerous. "Is that a threat? No-one is beating anyone around here."

"Oh really?" Harol approached Roran and stood directly in front of him, looking down at him. Roran was not short, but Harol was at least half a head taller. "What are you going to do about it?"

Roran smiled up at him and without warning, punched him in the stomach as hard as he could. Harol doubled over and fell onto hands and knees, gasping for breath. Mortin ran to help his brother and Roran turned to engage him. From the ground, Harol drew a knife.

Eragon saw him and ran forward to intervene, but he was too late. Roran cried out as Harol stabbed him deep in the side of his calf and fell down, wounded. Eragon came to a halt, his shock temporarily paralysing him. Roran's cry woke Spring, who had been sleeping in Eragon's bag. Mortin helped Harol to his feet and both men turned towards Eragon, but as they did so, the enraged dragon shot out of the bag and leapt straight at them, hissing in fury.

The brothers took one look at her and fled in terror, leaving Roran behind, the knife still in his leg.


	5. Chapter 4: Revelations

**Chapter 4: Hard Medicine**

* * *

><p>Eragon crouched next to Roran, who was curled up on the floor, clutching his leg. The breeches were already soaked in blood. He pulled out the knife and rolled up the leg of the breeches, exposing the wound. It was clean, but bleeding heavily. Tearing a strip from the bottom of his shirt for a make-shift bandage, he tied it as tightly as he could to try and force the wound shut and stop the bleeding.<p>

"I'm sorry Roran. That's the best I can do," he said.

Roran gritted his teeth; his face was pale. "It'll do until we get home. Hopefully father can sew it up; I've seen him deal with wounds before. Might have a bit of a limp though."

"Well at least you'll have a nice scar to show Katrina."

Roran grinned in spite of himself, and some of his humour returned. "Yes, because Katrina spends a lot of time looking at my legs doesn't she? Help me up please and let's get back."

Eragon helped him to his feet, though he winced as his weight came down on his injured leg. Once Roran was up, he concealed their goods behind a tree, off the path, and covered them with leaf-litter; then with Eragon supporting Roran, they made their slow way back to the farm.

As the brothers approached the homestead, Eragon sent Spring into the forest. Strangely, she seemed to understand what he was about and didn't interpret it as rejection, like she had before. However, he could still hear her moving through the undergrowth. She stayed close.

* * *

><p>Garrow spotted them as they limped up to the cottage past the field. He ran down to meet them. Undressing and examining Roran's wound, he ran back to the cottage and returned quickly with a bone needle, some thread and some other equipment. Eragon was sent with a small bowl down to the stream for some water. When he returned, Garrow unbound the wound and washed it, mixing some salt with the water to help clean the wound. Finally, he pulled out a bone needle, some linen thread and a small pot of beeswax.<p>

As he was sewing up the wound, they filled him in on the whole story. His response was not what they expected though. "Galstaff has a reputation as an honest man. He would not cheat like that. I don't believe it."

"But father," Eragon replied. "What happened, happened. We aren't lying to you."

"Don't worry son. I believe that events happened exactly as you say they did. But I don't believe that Galstaff was cheating you. If he was it would be the first time; and I've known him for over twenty years."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, first I'm going to finish repairing your brother's leg, and then you and I are going to go and retrieve my goods that you left in the forest. After that, you'll come back and carry on working, and I'll go and see Galstaff to hear his side."

"Be careful with his sons though, they are violent men."

"Eragon, I was bouncing those boys on my knee before you and Roran were even sparks in your mother's eye. I think I'll be alright."

Eragon could think of no reply to this, and so lapsed into silence, watching his father work. Having sown up the wound, Garrow rubbed some honey from their honey pot into it to ward off infection and rebound it.

"I think the wound itself will heal alright, but you'll end up with a nasty limp from that," he said to Roran. "The knife went too deep for your leg to ever heal completely."

Roran shrugged. "As long as I can still get around alright then I'll be fine." A thought occurred to him and he looked at his father with sudden apprehension. "I will be able to get around alright, won't I?"

Garrow nodded. "It depended on the person, but most of these sorts of wounds that I saw ended up without much problem, only a few caused long trouble. Just don't push yourself too hard too quickly. Give it time to fix itself."

Eragon looked at him amazed. "How do you know all this, father?"

"A long and varied life, my son. I'll tell you about it some time. Come, we need to go and get that stuff before some clever traveller finds it."

* * *

><p>They walked down the path together in silence. Garrow remarking on events.<p>

"Looks like we'll be having some bland meals for a while; I used up nearly all our store of salt seasoning cleaning that wound. Reminds me of that time when you were just a toddler and cut your foot open on a river shell down by the stream. I don't think I've seen so much blood come out of a small child in my life. When your brother gets himself injured, he does a proper job of it."

Eragon chuckled, but then his expression grew more serious.

"Can you tell me about your long and varied life?" he asked. "That wound looked horrible, yet you weren't fazed at all. What have you done in life, such that you've seen so many knife wounds that one that bad on your eldest son did not move you?"

Garrow did not reply immediately. It was clear that he was thinking hard about the question. When they came, his words were careful. "When your mother died giving birth to you, it tore my heart out. Remembering that time is very painful, so I call it up as little as possible. The only things in my life now, from that time, are you and Roran, and you just barely. That is why I never mentioned it."

"What did you do before?"

Garrow sighed heavily, as if a weight was settling on him. "There have been a lot of things, and I am prepared to tell you some. But there is much, some things that happened that I will never speak of. I do not want to remember them either.

"I was not born here, but quite a way away, in a province called the Campion Grasslands, far to the south and west of here. I got the bug to travel, to see something of the world, so I joined the Imperial Auxiliaries."

"Imperial Auxiliaries? You mean the army?"

"Not as such. The main army, the legions, are drawn from the Thirteen Provinces. The others supply auxiliaries, soldiers with skills that the core legions lack. The Grasslands were famed for their horses, big open spaces you see, and the auxiliaries from there were mainly Fast Cavalry; scouts and such."

"Every province supplies different soldiers?" Eragon said. "What does the Palancar Valley do?"

"Palancar? Oh, we supply archers. Even a tiny village like Carvahall has its own bowyer. There are many types of archers in the Empire, but Palancar bowmen are the best.

"Anyway, it's a simple enough story. I stayed in the army for a few years, eventually tired of it and moved to Palancar. I met your mother in the city, married her and came out here.

"When she died, I buried her in the hills above the farm, at the top of one with a view of the whole valley."

Eragon nodded. "I know the place. There's good hunting around there."

Garrow smiled. "Maybe your mother's spirit is watching over it, eh?"

It was a pleasant thought. "Yeah, maybe she is."

Continuing, Eragon said, "So you had practice with dressing wounds in the army?"

"I did. There was one battle with a lot of wounded. Most of our boys were hurt in some fashion and the company physician couldn't handle them all. I was one of the few to get through it unhurt, so I helped him out."

"Is this one of the things that you don't want to talk about?"

"Pretty much. I've told you what I think you have a right to know. Don't push for more."

* * *

><p>Presently, they arrived where Eragon had left everything. After considerable effort and a bit of imagination, they managed to load him up with everything and he commenced staggering back to the farm. Once Garrow was out of sight down the path, Eragon was unsurprised to see Spring step out of the bushes. Putting his thoughts about Garrow to one side, he greeted her.<p>

"Ah, there you are," he said. "Here, feel free to help."

He dropped the spade in front of her. She was not happy with the idea. She deferred to him, but he could see that she did not like it. Very like a sulky child to Eragon's eyes, she sidled up to it and tried to pick it up in her jaws. She was only just strong enough to lift it.

He smiled cheerily at her. "See? It's not that bad is it?"

If she had been human, she would have had an expression to curdle milk. As it was, she was a dragon and therefore couldn't actually move her face, although that didn't stop her from trying. Eragon followed behind her, watching the two-foot dragon try to carry what amounted to a four-foot staff with a large lump of metal at one end which must have weighed almost as much as she did. After a few yards, he took pity on her.

"Ok Spring, I'm sorry. You can stop now."

She dropped the spade and turn to look at him. He smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Here, you want to come up?"

She jumped towards him and he was able to crouch down enough for her to clamber up onto the sacks that he had over his shoulder.

At this point, he came upon a problem. Loaded as he was, he couldn't reach down to pick the spade up from where it was lying. However, Spring was sharp. She jumped off his shoulder and grabbed the hoe in her jaws again; managing to angle her head such that it was raised up and Eragon could grab it. Then she climbed onto his shoulder again.

Eragon smiled to himself. Just like a child, all had been forgiven.

* * *

><p>Soon, they arrived back at the farm. Spring disappeared into the bushes and Eragon placed his cargo in the cottage, taking the spade out to test it. Roran was out there. He was not capable of the hard work that they usually did, but was still determined to help. They soon developed a system where Eragon turned the earth and Roran, sitting on a stool, pulled out unwanted weeds and used a stick to break the soil.<p>

For a couple of hours they worked like this, until, with sweat soaking his shirt, Eragon called a halt. Grabbing a bucket, he walked down to the stream to fetch some water. As they rested and drank, Roran spoke up.

"I need to tell you something. As soon as my leg heals, I'm leaving."

"You're leaving? I don't smell that bad do I?"

"You do, but that's not why I'm going. I'm going to join the army, going to see something of the world."

Eragon was shocked. The thought of life on the farm without Roran seemed too bad to be true. "But why? What's wrong with farming? Do you not like living here? What about Katrina?"

"Calm down Eragon. I'm not going forever. You like it here, and so do I, but I don't want to spend my entire life here. It's a big empire and I want to see what the rest of it is like. You know, visit the big cities from the stories."

"Have you asked father about this?"

"He's already given his permission."

"But what about Katrina?" Eragon asked, now feeling thoroughly miserable.

"I'll only be gone for a few years. She said that she's willing to wait."

Eragon could think of nothing more to say. Presently, he spotted Garrow returning up the path. To pile bad atop bad, he did not look happy.

* * *

><p>"Eragon," Garrow asked as he approached, "Why did you punch Galstaff?"<p>

"I told you father, he cheated us."

"Why were you so quick to jump to that conclusion? You know that we've been dealing with him for years. He did not cheat."

"What? How did he explain not giving us the four bags that we were supposed to?"

"Very simple. He did not get as much flour out of the grain as he expected to. He was expecting five bags and he got four."

"So why did he not just say so?" Eragon said.

"Galstaff is a bit of a funny character. He is honest to a fault: Most millers would have just added sawdust to get five bags whereas he did not. Also, for your information, he takes great pride in his skills, to the point where if he guesses wrong he'll just eat the cost himself. Normally, he would have given you the four bags that he promised and not taken anything, but times are hard at the moment and he needed the fee. However, he also doesn't particularly like children."

"I'm not a child!" Eragon exclaimed with indignation.

"You are to him. To him, anyone younger is a child and children should show respect and never question. If he wasn't such a flamed fine miller, it would probably have got him thrown out of the village by now."

"So what's going to happen?"

"Your debt to him is to be paid by you going to the mill and working there for him for a few days."

"What? What about Harol stabbing Roran?"

"That is an entirely separate debt. Harol will pay that himself. Roran, you get to keep that knife and Harol will bring the sheath to go with it."

Roran perked up at this. It was a nice knife.

Garrow continued. "Also, Harol will take your place while you're gone Eragon, and work here until Roran is healed enough to start work properly again."

"Yeah, just in time for him to leave." Eragon rose to get back to work, dejection evident in every part of his motion; but before he could start, Garrow called him back.

"By the way Eragon, Galstaff's sons mentioned about you having some kind of giant lizard that attacked them. Do you know anything about this?

Eragon and Roran looked at each other. Garrow saw something pass between them and watched as, with a sigh, Eragon walked towards the nearby bushes. He crouched down near them and appeared to say something. After a few seconds, he stood up and returned with something in his arms. As he got closer, Garrow's heart sank as he recognised what it was.

"Father," Eragon said. "This is Spring. And she's not a lizard, she's a baby dragon."

"Oh great! Not on top of everything else."

Eragon looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Eragon," he replied. "Do you realise what this means?"

"Of course. It's simple really. I was there when she hatched. I was the first person that she saw, so she thought that I was her parent or something. We see it with chickens all the time. Why are you so worried?"

"Oh it's much worse than that. If that was all then trust me, there would be no problem. There is much more going on here than you realise."

Eragon looked suspicious. "What are you talking about? She's following me around, sure, but she looks after herself alright and she'll run off when she gets big enough, like all animals. You aren't making any sense."

"Allow me to demonstrate for you. You introduced her as Spring. _Her_, Eragon. Tell me, how do you know she's female?"


	6. Chapter 5: Balancing Honour

**Author's Note: **This story is beginning to get to a length now where I'm beginning to have difficulty in keeping minor details consistent. Therefore, if anyone spots any apparent plot holes or continuity errors or anything else, I'd be grateful if you would let me know so that I can either clarify it or correct it (I do my best, but I can't catch everything). I want to write the best story that I can, and any fixed error will make it better for future readers. Thank you very much.

**Chapter 5: Balancing Honour**

"How do I know she's female?" Eragon replied, "but of course she's female. Just look...at...her..." He trailed off, a confused expression on his face.

"What about her?" said Garrow. "How can you tell?"

"I don't know _how_, she's just female. It's obvious."

"You aren't listening Eragon. _Think._ You've never seen a dragon before, you know nothing about them. How can it be obvious? It isn't obvious to me or Roran."

Roran nodded agreement. "Well spotted Father. I didn't notice that. He introduced her as a 'she' to me too but I didn't think to question it."

"But what does this mean?" Eragon said, holding Spring close. He could feel her beginning to get distressed, so he stroked her ear stubs.

"I can hazard a guess, possibly, but you might not like it," Garrow replied.

"Go on."

"Ok. Hold out your right hand."

Eragon did so. Garrow inspected it, but aside from a little dirt, the palm was clean.

"Oh. Maybe I was wrong then," he said.

"If you were looking for what I think you were, then I don't think you were, Father." Eragon replied. "Were you looking for this?"

He held out his left hand, with the spiral scar emblazoned on the palm. Garrow's eyes widened, his shock evident, despite the fact that he'd been at least half expecting it.

"Dragonfire!" His use of the curse betrayed his discomfiture. "It is! I've only ever seen that scar in one other place. This explains a lot."

"What? Where did you see it?"

"On the hand of the King himself. Back when I was in the Auxiliaries, my company was called out to take part in a mission to the city of Aldaran. It was extremely important; there were other auxiliary regiments and a couple of the legions involved, even the King himself."

"Aldaran?" interjected Roran, "wasn't that destroyed years ago?"

"Yes, but this was before then. Anyway, there was this great muster, where all the troops gathered together, and the King came down, riding on Shruikan, his dragon.

"We were all gathered together for him to give a speech. He must have used magic to project his voice or something because he never shouted and the crowd was huge, yet everyone heard him.

"Anyway, we clapped and cheered and he raised his right hand to acknowledge and I saw a spiral scar, just like that, on his palm.

"There was strange behaviour between the King and his dragon. You see, the King was the last member of the Dragon Riders..."

"I've heard this story," Eragon interjected. "The Riders became evil and the King was the last good one. He realised that they would never be redeemed, so he destroyed them."

"Correct, but that wasn't what I was about to say. There are other stories about the Riders. There was a bond, a connection, of some kind between dragon and rider."

"Is that what you saw when the King gave his speech?"

"I saw something. Their behaviour seemed much more that of equals, than that of a master and steed. There was understanding there."

"And you think that there may be something like that between me and Spring?" said Eragon.

"I don't know. I would guess so. No-one knows much about the Rider bond. I guess that the Riders did, but only the King knows that now. That a bond existed is fairly common legend, but its nature is another question."

Eragon was strangely unworried by this news. If there was a bond, and the creation of the scar suggested that that was the case, then it had already existed for a day or so, and nothing had happened. The main question was what to do about it. He asked this of Garrow.

"I don't know son. I don't know anything about dragon riders. The best that I can think of to do at the moment is to wait, and see what happens."

"You don't want to tell anyone?"

"Who would we tell? The King is a Dragon Rider, but no-one else is and good luck getting to him. Most people won't react as nicely as me or your brother. I think the best thing would be to keep it quiet."

Eragon frowned. "That would work for a while, but she'll get bigger. Eventually, we won't be able to keep her secret."

Garrow smiled in response to this. "Yes, Eragon, but I reckon having a dragon too big to hide is a problem that'll probably solve itself. We do not know enough at the moment to make a decision."

"But how will we find out more?"

"We'll watch and see what happens. Learn as we go. Life will go on as normal; just with an additional family member."

"Thank you, Father." Eragon said.

Garrow looked confused. "Thank you for what?"

"For not killing her."

Garrow still looked confused. "Kill her? What? Why would I do that?"

Eragon and Roran exchanged a glance. "Oh, no reason."

Garrow smiled. "There's no need for you to worry your head about that sort of thing. You just worry about the next week. It will not be as nice working for Galstaff as it is here."

Eragon's mood immediately soured. "Wonderful!"

* * *

><p>The next day, Eragon travelled down to the mill. He was really not looking forward to it, and his feet dragged. Spring was with him, of course, though she spent most of her time hunting in the bushes and undergrowth next to the path.<p>

As he arrived at the mill, Galstaff came out to meet him.

"You're late, boy." He said.

Biting his tongue down on the sarcasm that threatened to erupt, Eragon replied: "Good morning, sir."

Galstaff appeared slightly taken aback by this polite response, however he said nothing, waiting for something more.

Eragon knew what he was waiting for, but his emotions rebelled. He said, simply, "What would you like me to do?"

Galstaff turned away. "Come. I'll show you."

He took Eragon round to the side of the main building, where the water wheel was churning. There was a narrow brick-lined mill-race, through which the water ran. A small alcove in the side of this contained an iron ladder that went down to the side of the water wheel axle.

Galstaff pointed to it. "The wheel has a habit of getting fouled by weeds. Normally, I'd send one of the lads down occasionally to clear it out, but you'll have to do. Stay down there and keep the wheel clean."

The danger of this task was not lost on Eragon, but he was resolved not to provoke anything. Silently, he walked over and climbed down the rusty, wet, slippery ladder. Galstaff watched him go down, then walked away.

* * *

><p>Harol arrived at the farm slightly later than Eragon had at the mill. He'd taken a slight detour to avoid meeting the little squirt on the road, just in case he felt tempted to administer a well-deserved beating. Roran was a good lad; shame that he had such a wimp of a kid brother, who was unafraid to attack harmless old men but hid behind his elder sibling when any actual danger threatened.<p>

Garrow came out to meet him, Roran limping behind. "Good morning Harol," he said. He was polite, but Harol noticed stiffness in his manner. He had been expecting something like this. It was reasonable that he would not be happy with the man who wounded his son, after all.

Harol returned the greeting, put his bag on the ground and removed his knife sheath from it. Stepping up to Roran, he handed it to him, then bowed his head and spoke formally. "I apologise for the hurt I have caused to you. Please accept this gift in recompense. I stand ready to serve, to restore my repute."

Roran replied, with equal gravity. "I accept your apology and the recompense offered. The debt will be balanced."

Harol raised his head and responded. "The debt will be balanced,"

The formal words concluded between them, Garrow stepped up.

"Drop your stuff there. Come with me, and I'll show you what to do." Garrow walked off into the field and Harol followed him. There was a minimum of conversation. He was here to pay his debt, not to make friends.

* * *

><p>Down in the mill-race, Eragon was not having a nice time. He was wet through from the splashing of the water, and his arms burned from holding onto the ladder. The mill-wheel did not stop its thrashing and he had enormous trouble trying to both hold onto the ladder and clean the wheel at the same time, with the noise of the water filling his ears and spray in his eyes. He held on for dear life and wished for it to end.<p>

It was early evening when Galstaff finally allowed him out of the mill-race. Eragon only knew about it when he physically felt a hand on his shoulder. As he climbed back up the ladder, he felt lift return to his aching limbs. He was famished, having been given nothing to eat all day. A brief glance down was enough for Galstaff to see the weed-covered water-wheel, with a few clean spots where Eragon had scratched ineffectually at it. He turned to Eragon with a thunderous look on his face. "Is this what you call work?" He demanded. "Why are you here?"

Eragon flinched at his tone, but kept his voice even. "For striking you."

"Exactly! I did nothing to wrong you, yet you attacked me. And now you're sent here to repay what you owe, you show no respect and can't even do a proper job! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Eragon could think of no reply. He stared at the ground. Every muscle ached and his stomach felt glued to his backbone. He was in no mood for an argument. Galstaff sighed. His face was still angry, but there seemed another emotion mixed with it; almost...disappointment?

Galstaff's voice quieted and he spoke normally. "If you cannot be bothered to balance your repute, then I see no reason to help you. I reject you from your obligation, although you never acknowledged it anyway. Get out of my sight."

Angry and shocked, Eragon ran away into the trees. Thoughts that he could not even articulate ran through his head. Out of breath, he sat down on the ground and buried his head in his hands. He heard a rustle behind him and felt Spring's nose nuzzle into his armpit. He lifted his arm and let her slide in next to him. Her presence was a comfort, and allowed him to think.

_What right does he have to do this to me?_ He thought. _Fine, my work was not perfect, but it was _hard_! There was no reason for him to humiliate me like that. I now have no repute at all!_

However, his mind spoke back to him. _I'm not exactly innocent in this. I've been digging at him since the start. I've behaved like a child. _

_I haven't. _He responded. _I turned up to work._

_Yes, but I didn't acknowledge it. A child obeys the punishment but rejects it in his heart. A man accepts his debt in his heart as well._

_I'm not apologising and anyway, he knew that he was giving me an impossible task. He said that he usually sends one of his sons down _occasionally_. He kept me down there all day! _

_Father said that he's an honourable man, and I trust him, so Galstaff can't have been deliberately trying to dishonour me. There must be something else at work. I should go and apologise._

_I don't want to apologise. He deserves to only have one son to help him out. That'll teach him to mess me about._

_But I already guessed that he might not be messing me about. Besides, what would leaving do to my repute? I should go and make it right._

_He won't take me back though._

_If he's an honourable man, he might do. It doesn't matter anyway. I've already been stupid, going back and apologising is the right thing to do, even if it doesn't restore repute._

_Fine, let's get it over with then._

Eragon stood up. He petted Spring, and then turned around to head back to the mill. It was now beginning to get properly dark. More time had passed than he thought. As he drew close to buildings he could see a light in the window of the small house where the miller lived. His heart beating harder than normal, Eragon opened the door and went in. Inside Galstaff and Mortin were sitting together at a small table, bowls and some bread in front of them. There was a small fire in the hearth, with a black metal pot hanging next to it. From the smell, it was apparent that some sort of stew had been cooking.

The two men fell silent and turned to face him as he entered. Eragon turned to Galstaff. Bowing his head, he spoke. "I apologise for the hurt I have caused to you. I stand ready to serve, to restore my repute."

He stood with his head bowed. Galstaff allowed the silence to stretch out, watching him closely. Eragon stood still. At length Galstaff responded. "I accept your apology and the recompense offered. The debt will be balanced."

Eragon raised his head. "The debt will be balanced," He stepped forward. "Also, I apologise for my behaviour today. It was not justified. I offer to work an additional day in recompense for this."

Galstaff seemed to struggling to maintain his stern expression. "That will not be necessary lad. Becoming a man is a difficult thing; otherwise there would be more of us. It is understandable that you would stumble on the way. Also, neither of us started this well."

He turned back to the table, gesturing to a stool sitting in the corner of the cottage. "Pull that up and get yourself some food, we've a hard day tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Harol wiped the sweat off his brow and leant on his hoe. Looking back at the cottage, he reflected on farming. He had a lot more respect for the farmers that brought their grain to the mill now. It was actually hard work. In the failing light, he could see Garrow coming down to fetch him. The first day was apparently over.<p>

Galstaff showed Eragon his temporary pallet in the mill itself. "There are no fires of any description in here," he said. "No candles or nothing. Do you understand? There's a lot of flour dust in here and any flame could send the whole place up. I'd prefer you to return to your father on your own legs, instead of Mortin carrying what's left of you in a bag."

He grunted at Eragon's affirmative. "You can wash in the mill-pond outside. We're up-river of the village, so it's good water."

Eragon nodded his understanding, and Galstaff left. The door was slightly ajar, and soon Spring slipped in to join him. He just about had enough blanket to cover her too and she fell asleep. Eragon stayed awake a little longer, but tiredness eventually got him too and he drifted off.


	7. Chapter 6: A Crisis of Health

**Chapter 6: A Crisis of Health**

For Eragon, the rest of the week did not progress as it began. He was awoken just before dawn; by Spring as she went outside to hunt. He could just hear sounds of movement from the cottage, low voices and clattering. Getting up, he put his shirt and breeches on, blinking sleep from his eyes as he stepped outside. He washed in the mill-pond, the cold water on his face finally waking him up, and went over to the cottage in search of food.

Galstaff was sat at the table. He greeted him as he entered. "Good morning lad. There's bread and cheese on the table. Help yourself to some drink too."

Eragon went over and took a piece of each. Sitting on the same stool that he had used the previous night, he poured some water from the earthenware jug that occupied the table. "Where's Mortin?" He said.

"He's just gone to feed the donkey. He'll be back soon."

"You have a donkey? I didn't know that."

"We do. He lives in a little stable round the back. Come on boy, you must have noticed him."

Eragon shook his head. "Of course. I'm sorry, I'm not at my best in the morning."

Galstaff laughed. "Don't worry lad. It happens to all of us. We'll just wait for him to come back and I'll tell you what I want to do."

At length, Mortin returned and Galstaff faced them both. He addressed Eragon. "You're here to pay back an offense, but what I want to do is make this more than just that. I could just have you down with the water-wheel for the next week..." he paused at Eragon's grimace "...or just fetching and carrying but I judge you to be capable of more than that.

"Instead, I want to make this week into something of an apprenticeship. My son and I will teach you how to mill. What do you say to that?"

Eragon was overwhelmed by his generosity. This was far and away above what he'd expected. His voice was choked, but he just about managed to respond. "Yes, thank you."

He didn't manage more, but Galstaff's expression showed that he understood. Being Galstaff, he didn't let the moment last. "There's still plenty of fetching and carrying to do though. I need a nice clean water-wheel for a start."

Eragon took it in good humour. "Of course. You'll have the cleanest waterwheel in the whole of Palancar Valley when I'm finished with it."

"I expect nothing less. Not for the whole day though. I've got something else for you this afternoon." He shooed Eragon away. "Off you go then."

Eragon took the last morsel of food out with him and headed out towards the water-wheel. He felt a lot better about it this time.

* * *

><p>Harol had gotten up early and was already out working when the sun came up. He'd heard Roran move in the morning darkness and had expected him to follow. The first sign that something was wrong was when he didn't. He soon appeared, supported by Garrow. Harol laid down his tools and went to see what was up. Garrow spotted him and called out. "Harol, fetch the stool from inside will you?"<p>

Changing course, Harol went inside, stealing a glance at Roran as he went. He got no clue there however, aside from a slight impression of paleness. Bringing the stool outside, he assisted Garrow in helping Roran sit in it. Garrow rolled up Roran's trouser leg and unwrapped the bandage that bound his leg.

It did not look healthy. The area around the wound was red and slightly swollen. The bandage removal had ripped the scab off and clear fluid was collecting where it had been. As they watched, a small droplet ran down Roran's leg.

Garrow didn't mess around. "Harol, go down to the stream and get some water please. I'll need to wash this. Once you've done that, go down to see Sloan and see if he's got any wine. Tell him I sent you. I vaguely remember him buying some a few years ago."

Harol went off. He had not managed to detect any hint of reproach in Garrow's voice, but worry was knawing at him. Roran was a good man; he did not deserve that to happen to him. Harol had behaved foolishly in the fight, he knew that and was already balancing it, but this was now going even further. He hoped that Roran would be alright.

He fetched the water from the stream and then headed off to see Sloan. Meanwhile, Garrow had grabbed a cloth from inside. "I'm sorry son," he said "but this may hurt quite a bit. I'm going to need to give it a good scrub."

"It's ok father. You do what you need to do and I'll take it."

Garrow nodded and immediately began work. Roran clenched his teeth at the pain. It felt as if Garrow had stuck a red-hot knife right into his leg and started twisting it around. Tears broke around the corners of his eyes, but he forced himself to allow nothing more. Garrow scrubbed away and blood started to flow. The pain began to recede, but whether that was because Garrow had actually done anything or not, Roran could not tell.

Presently, Garrow finished and sat back. "That's it now," he said. "I'll give it another go over with the wine when Harol brings it back. That should sort it out."

Harol returned, but his hands were empty. "He had none," he said. "I'm not sure whether I believe him though."

Garrow nodded his acknowledgement. "Did you tell him what it was for?"

"I did."

"Then he won't have been lying. Sloan is a tight one, but even he isn't that bad."

Harol still wasn't sure; he'd seen the expression on Sloan's face and felt that he knew a liar when he saw one, but did not feel in a position to argue. Garrow knew these people and he didn't.

The guilt at having caused this whole mess sapped at his confidence. He was not about to argue with the father of the man he had injured.

* * *

><p>For Eragon, the next few days passed uneventfully. He learnt about the life of the miller, being shown all the ins and outs. Of course he still got the nasty jobs; the water wheel still needed to be kept clean, and the flour had a habit of getting in the gears of the milling system, requiring that to be cleaned down at least once.<p>

Cleaning this down left them a backlog, so they were frantically milling for all they were worth for the rest of the day. From what Galstaff said, in a tone of voice that left Eragon in doubt as to whether he was truly serious or not, it got even worse in the summer, where the heat made the flour turn sticky and the mill had to be stripped down and cleaned every day. Apparently, they were in a comparatively easy time at the moment, at the start of Spring, where there was no harvest yet and the weather was cool enough to reduce the need for cleaning. Given how hard he was finding the mill work now, Eragon dreaded to think of what harvest time would be like.

During all this, Spring was never far away. He never saw her during the day; she knew to stay hidden. At night though, she used to come in and curl up beside him on his pallet and he got used to her presence. As the days went by, he began to get a sense of her, and found himself always able to guess roughly where she was. Sometimes during the midday break, he was able to wander off and they'd spend the time playing together.

She was inquisitive, and loved challenges. Something as simple as throwing a stone as hard as he could into the forest and sending her off to find it could keep her occupied for an entire afternoon while he worked and when she turned up at night, holding the stone in her jaws, he could almost see the pride flowing off her in waves. She was stronger, a far more confident being than the small, frightened creature that had mewled at him a week ago.

* * *

><p>It was the morning of the sixth day of his week at the mill when Harol turned up unexpectedly. Eragon was just crossing the yard when he came bursting up the path and made straight for him.<p>

"Eragon!" He called as he approached, gasping slightly as if he was a bit out of breath. "Your father sent me to fetch you. Roran is very ill. He's worried that he might be dying."

Eragon struggled to take it in. "What? What do you mean Roran's dying? When? How?"

"His wound got infected a few days ago. Garrow tried to treat it, but it did no good. The infection is spreading. He may not survive it."

As he was speaking, Galstaff came up. "Harol? What are you doing back early? You'd better have a good excuse."

"I got sent back to fetch Eragon, father. Roran is severly ill. Garrow requests that Eragon be allowed to come home."

Galstaff nodded. Turning to Eragon, he said: "Off you go then. Get your things."

"But what about my debt? I've only done six days," Eragon replied.

"Five, but don't worry about that lad. You've more or less done a week's worth of work anyway. We had a bad start, but you've been one of the best workers I've ever had."

Eragon smiled with pride, but Galstaff hurried him on.

"Now get going, your brother needs you."

He turned and ran to his pallet to collect his stuff. Within five minutes, he was ready to go, saying a rapid goodbye to Galstaff and Mortin. Mortin had been pretty quiet. He was a man of few words, but after almost a week of working together there was mutual respect where there had been contempt and dislike before. Much as being sent to work here had been a punishment, Eragon knew that he would miss it.

Leaving the village, he walked quickly up the path towards the farm. Presently, Spring came out of the woods and scurried along with him. There was no playfulness about her now; she seemed to have detected the seriousness of the situation. Eragon's heart thudded in his chest. He did not know what he would find.

* * *

><p>Garrow spotted him as he crossed the stream and came out to meet him. Greeting each other, they headed back to the cottage. Eragon was shocked at the change in Roran. He was lying on Garrow's bed dowstairs, his face was pale and sweaty, his breathing laboured. He appeared to be asleep, but he must have detected Eragon's entry because his eyes flicked open.<p>

"Eragon," he said in a faltering, raspy voice. "It's good to see you again. I'm afraid that I can't get up."

A lump in his throat, Eragon sat down on the bed next to him. "Is it bad?"

Roran gave a weak chuckle, some of his spirit returning. "No, I just decided to become ill to get out of working."

Silently, Garrow came up and twitched asie the blanket covering Roran's leg. Eragon stifled a gasp at the sight. What had a been a deep and bloody, but clean, gash six days ago was now swollen to half again the size that it had been. The entire area was inflamed and the edges of the wound had turned black. There was no blood. The wound was slowly leaking some kind of greenish-yellow fluid, which Garrow wiped off even as Eragon stared. Deep purple veins fanned out from the cut, travelling up Roran's leg and disappearing under the blanket.

Roran was watching him through half-lidded eyes. "See?" he said. "It's not that bad."

Eragon detected the forced nature of Roran's light-heartedness. Roran had always been one to laugh off any injury, but this one was straining him. He had to be in terrible pain. For the sake of his brother though, Eragon could not bring himself to disagree.

"Oh yeah, it looks fine. I'm sure you'll be up on your feet in no time."

Roran smiled and laid his head back, shutting his eyes. "I'm sure I will."

Garrow tapped Eragon on the shoulder and together they went outside. His father made sure that they were well out of earshot of the cottage before he turned to Eragon, despair written on his face.

"I can't stop it son. I can't! I tried every healing trick I know, cleaned the wound repeatedly. How can this have happened!

"There is nothing more I can do. My supplies are gone. None of the other families have anything left that they can lend me. Every remedy I know has failed."

Eragon tried to think. "Surely there's someone who can help. Are there no healers in the village?"

"There are, but none of them know any more than I do. We'd have to send down to the city to find anyone to help and it's far too late for that, even if someone would come and we could afford to pay them."

He leaned on the yard fence, his head bowed. Eragon could see his tears hitting the ground at the base. "He's dying, Eragon. Roran is dying. There is nothing we can do now. My firstborn son!"

Eragon put his arm round his father's shoulders and Garrow clasped him into a hug. Eragon was not given to emotional displays, but he could not hold back. His shirt front grew wet with their mingled tears.

At length they separated. Wiping his eyes, Garrow spoke. I need to stay with him Eragon. I'll do some stuff around the cottage but the field work still needs to be done. Will you handle it for me?

Silently, Eragon nodded.

"Thank you, my son." Garrow turned and headed back towards the cottage. Fetching a spade, Eragon began to work. Spring watched, hidden in the plant growth at the base of the fence. He hadn't noticed, but her eyes were wet.

* * *

><p>The next few days passed the same way. Roran was in a fever, drifting in and out of consciousness. The blackness around the wound spread, as if his entire leg was rotting. Garrow continued to clean it, but it did no good. He became increasingly exhausted, the long days of work and the nights spent sitting at his eldest son's bedside taking their toll.<p>

One evening, as Eragon came in, he saw his father sitting in his chair at Roran's bedside, nodding off to sleep. Eragon woke him. "Father, go and get some rest. You've been killing yourself. Let me watch him tonight."

"No! I need to be here. What if something happens and I'm away?"

"I promise that I'll wake you immediately if something happens. Sleep father. Get some rest. Let me share the burden."

"But..."

"Please father. It won't help Roran if you die from exhaustion. If you get a good night's sleep, you'll be better able to help him. Maybe you'll even dream of a remedy."

Finally persuaded, Garrow climbed the ladder to sleep on one of the pallets in the loft. Settling down in the chair, Eragon watched his brother. Roran was peacfully asleep, but his skin was pallid and he was feverish. Outside it grew dark. Eragon got up to light a fire in the hearth. He settled back and watched the flames, his left hand stroking Roran's brow. He'd left the door ajar, and presently Spring came in. He shut the door behind her and sat back down. Spring climbed on his lap and settled down. Absently, he stroked her ear-stubs with his other hand.

The night grew darker. Eragon found himself nodding off and to keep himself awake he concentrated on the flames, thinking about Roran and his illness. He remembered all the good times they'd had. The way his brother had joked and laughed. The way that he would smile in triumph whenever he made a particularly good shot at the archery tournaments on the village green, years ago. He wanted to remember Roran like that, as the brave big brother who'd always stood up for him, even against people half again his size, even when he didn't really deserve it. People had respected Roran for that; he'd become known as an honourable man. It was a terrible way for him to go, Eragon thought. To go through all that growing up, to be just on the verge of leaving to follow his dreams, only to be struck down by an infected wound from an idiotic fight that should never have happened.

He gazed at the fire. He was slowly falling asleep, and as his vision swam, he thought he saw the tongues of flame form strange shapes. Shapes of dragons, twisting and flying through the air. The fire seemed to grow hotter, heat upon heat, yet he felt no kind of pain. He closed his eyes. He floated, his right hand stroking Spring, anchored to reality, the other resting on Roran's forehead. He dreamed, and in his dream he saw the dragon flames fly from the hearth and land, dancing, onto Spring. Spring herself was glowing with a golden light and the dragon flames seemed to suck it into themselves, taking on its colour as they did so, growing fat on it. They danced more strongly, and in more complicated forms and in his dream he called out, trying to stop them. They were killing Spring! But they danced away from her, crossing his body and landing on his other hand. Before he could move, they burrowed into it and he felt a flash of heat on his palm Then they were gone. The flames faded to blackness, and he slept.


	8. Chapter 7: Healings and Suspicions

**Chapter 7: Healings and Suspicions**

Sunlight shining on his face woke Eragon. With a start, he opened his eyes. Judging by the light streaming in from the open door, it was near mid-morning. How had he been allowed to sleep so late. He was lying back in the chair, Spring curled up on his lap, still asleep. He got his second shock of the day when he glanced over at Roran, asleep in the bed. Or, where Roran should have been sleeping. The bed was empty!

Dimly hearing voices outside, he jumped from the chair, gently depositing Spring on the bed as he did so. He raced out, where he saw the gladdest sight that he had seen for a long time. Roran was standing, talking and laughing with Garrow, not a hint of illness anywhere in him. His face looked full and healthy as he turned to smile at Eragon. Laughing, Eragon crashed into him, clasping him into a mighty hug.

"Brother! My brother! You're not dying!" He gazed at him, narrowing his eyes. "Well, either that or you're very good at pretending."

Roran laughed. "Yes, Eragon. Well spotted. I'm not dying. I woke up this morning and, well, I'm not sure how to describe it. I woke up and I just felt ... better."

"What happened to you?"

Garrow interjected. "We were hoping that you would be able to help us with that, Eragon."

"What?" Eragon said, confused. "How would I know what happened? I fell asleep."

Garrow smiled. "Don't worry son. I've seen magic before. It doesn't scare me."

"Magic! What? What are you on about father? I didn't do magic. I fell asleep and dreamed about dragons ..."

Garrow put his arms around them both. "Don't lets worry about it now. I don't know what happened, and honestly, I don't really care. I have both my sons back again. How it happened doesn't matter."

They stood like that for a while, simply enjoying each others' presence. Then Eragon addressed Roran. "Is it fully healed?"

"Depends what you mean." Roran stepped back and lifted his trouser leg, showing a large whiteish scar where the would had been. "Infection-wise, yes, it has, as you can see. I don't have full strength or movement though. You won't catch me doing much running anymore."

Eragon feigned confusion. "You used to run?"

"Yes I did, O slow one. I used to catch you pretty regularly too. Remember that?"

"Nope. Never happened."

"Pah! You should be grateful. It'll at least be an even chase for you now."

He lunged at Eragon, who danced backwards, out of range. Plucking a long stalk of grass from the ground, Eragon dodged around around him, lightly tapping him on the head with it. Roran whirled round, grabbing at the stalk as it swept towards him. His tug snapped the stalk, but threw Eragon off balance. Roran grabbed him into a headlock, taunting as he did so. "Aha! Not so slow after all, am I?"

Eragon was not beaten yet. Hooking his leg around Roran's good one, he yanked it out from under him. Roran's just-healed leg could not take the extra weight. He gasped in pain as it collapsed under him, dumping both of them unceremoniously into the dust.

Eragon was instantly apologetic, but he turned to find Roran laughing his head off. Garrow was standing there smiling. "That's my boys," he said, happily.

Helping Roran up, Eragon asked: "So what about this army thing? You still going to go ahead with it?"

Roran nodded. "I am, but not quite yet. I'll let myself recover for a bit, get my strength back. I'll probably leave in a month or two."

Eragon nodded sagely. "Spend some time with Katrina..."

"Well, I might talk to her a bit. It'd be rude not to. I am going away after all."

"Will your leg be strong enough?"

"To speak to Katrina? Should be. Talking isn't very strenuous at all."

"To join the army, goat-for-brains!"

"It might be. I don't know. It's worth going anyway. If I travel there and get rejected, I'll just travel back. I'll still have seen something of the world and I can always try again in a few years."

Eragon nodded. At that moment, Spring came wandering out of the cottage. She looked at the three of them, her eyes hooded with sleep. Roran's eyes lit up when he saw her, and, with difficultly, he crouched down, hands out towards her. Spring tottered over to him and he picked her up, cradling her in his arms. She immediately fell asleep.

Roran looked down at her with fondness. "I owe both of you my life, you know. I don't know what it was that you did, but I know that you did something."

Eragon held up his hands. "As long as you don't expect me to tell you anything. I don't know what happened either. I just had some weird dream and fell asleep."

"Well I was ill. You came back and then I got better. I guess Spring had something to do with it too, because I've been ill before and your own glorious presence didn't do anything then. The only difference between then and now is a dragon. It doesn't really matter beyond that. It happened; that's the important thing."

Garrow chimed in. "We won't be telling anyone else either. Roran was ill, he got better. That is the end of it. Now, work still needs doing. Eragon, take Spring inside and let her sleep in peace."

Eragon and Roran headed out into the field to begin work. Across the field, Katrina looked up and spotted Roran. Roran limped over to her, motioning for Eragon to stay where he was. They appeared to talk, but he could hear nothing of what was said. Behind them, he saw Sloan watching too. From this distance it was difficult to read his expression, but it seemed to Eragon that he looked less than happy.

* * *

><p>It took Spring a while to recover from what had happened that night. She slept through the rest of that day and the night too. The next morning, Eragon was woken in the dawn darkness by her questing nose nudging him in the ribs. He tickled her earstubs and responded quietly, to avoid waking the others. "Ah Spring! What time do you call this?" She nudged him again. "Ok, Ok. I'm up. Let's go."<p>

Rising and pulling on his clothes, he gathered his bow and arrows and headed out hunting, Spring happily trotting alongside. Light was just creeping into the sky in the east. The other families were obviously not up yet, although he could dimly see activity around Sloan's cottage. He decided that it would be a nice gesture to try and catch some game for them as well. After the help that Garrow had told him of, it would be a nice gesture of thanks. Garrow's limits on his hunting were still in effect, so as he headed into the woodland, he made sure to stay relatively near the homestead.

For the next few weeks, life followed the familiar pattern. The days grew longer and warmer as spring established itself. Little Spring settled properly into the family and grew rapidly. She grew better and better at hunting, until Eragon began to seriously consider not bothering to take his bow any more. The experience showed. Although still a baby, she was most definitely no longer a newborn.

Roran regained his strength, but his leg, though healed, never returned to its original capability. Eragon sensed that this disturbed him and tried, surreptitiously, to see if he could repeat whatever had happened that night, but nothing ever did. Whatever it had been, magic or something else, it wasn't coming back. Life carried on as normal.

One day though, things seemed a little off. Spring woke him as normal, but seemed to be in a strange mood. She was snappy and irritable and as they went into the woods she moved slowly and carefully, without her usual agility. Her behaviour confused Eragon.

It was now late spring. Leaves were coming out and it was clearly going to be a sunny day. Usually on a day like this, she was bursting with energy. Why not today? The day grew lighter and Eragon finally spotted something of what was wrong. Her skin had lost its well-defined colour and looked considerably greyer than it had before. As he watched, it seemed to lose its attachment to the flesh beneath it, sliding over her body independently of her motion. He was confused. Was she ill? She certainly seemed to show no signs of illness, but then what sort of illnesses did dragons get?

There was a clearing just ahead, a sort of tall meadow in the midst of the woodland, and Spring headed for it in a kind of jerking run, doing her best to hide in a patch of long grass when she reached it. Nearby, a small brook, laden with snowmelt from the mountains, gurgled through the clearing. As he watched, she began to scratch at herself with her claws, ineffectually at first, but soon tearing great rents in her scales. She arched her back and a great split appeared, running from her next to the base of her tail. Finally, Eragon understood. He'd seen snakes do it before. She was moulting!

He stepped over to help her out, and before long she stood, in a new glossy green coat, vaguely defined brown stripes running down her back. Her old skin lay discarded on the ground, looking eerily like a dragon-shaped ghost and she kicked some dirt over it to hide it from prying eyes. Her new skin was baggy, plainly requiring a bit of growing into. She lay down in the sun, letting the warmth of the dawn rays dry out the scales and harden them up.

Eragon left her to it, and went out to see if he could catch anything. The forest was eerily silent. As he stalked through the trees, he thought it strange. There was nothing to be found. No rabbits, even though it was a perfect spring morning; no birds either. Maybe there was a hawk or something hanging around? As he moved, he thought he heard the sound of something moving nearby. He changed direction to head towards the sound, taking care to make no sound. He was curious, but did not want to risk disturbing whatever it was, in case it was dangerous. His weak bow and small arrows would be of no help if it turned out to be a bear. Stealthily he moved forwards, stopping every so often to listen. The sounds got louder. He was getting close.

Suddenly, a stone turned under his foot. He lost his balance, stepping foward heavily, his foot landing hard on a dry twig, which snapped with a loud crack. The sounds ahead grew louder and more agitated, and then faded. All was silent. Nothing moved. Eragon crept forward to where they had come from. There was a thick stand of bushes, which did not require a King's forester to tell had been disturbed by something quite large. What worried Eragon more that this was the footprint in the soft earth beneath them, which revealed the nature of the being that had been there. The footprint was large, and it was the print of a boot.

_Spring!_ Eragon turned and ran back towards the clearing as fast as he could, stealth out of the window as he flew along. No more than half an hour could have passed since he left her resting. Surely she would be alright! He burst into the clearing and ran to where he had left her. The discarded skin lay partially covered where it had fallen, but Spring was nowhere to be seen. Frantically he cast around, looking for some clue as to where she had been. There! A bent blade of grass. Beyond, a gap in the grass, as if a small creature had passed through. Marks in the ground of little claws. Where'd she gone to?

He tried to get a sense of where she was, but as he did so his keen ears picked up the soft pitter-patter of feet rapidly approaching. He turned, just in time to see Spring burst out of the undergrowth, panting hard. She looked frantic. She ran over to him and, dropping his bow, he crouched to pick her up, hugging her close. He felt her shivering against his chest and he stroked her head, feeling her fear subside as he did. The hammering of his own heart slowed. She turned her head to look up at him. He spoke, his voice choked with relief.

"You really had me worried there! We've got to go. There's another person out here, we can't let them see you." He put her down and stood up. "But first we need to hide this properly." Picking up and folding the discarded skin, he quickly dug out a lump of grass and buried it, replacing the grass on top, arranging the blades to try and hide the join where it had been temporarily uprooted.

Walking quickly they left the clearing behind. Spring no long playing and romping around, but moving rapid and silent, using all of her inborn instincts to stay as hidden as possible. Eyes watched them leave.

* * *

><p>When he was quite certain that they'd gone, a man stepped out from the shadowed undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. A good eye for detail spotted the area where Spring had lain and questing fingers quickly found the patch of grass that had been uprooted. A moment's digging, and the clearing was left as pristine as it had ever been. Minus one dragon skin.<p> 


	9. Chapter 8: Romance and Revelations

**Chapter 8: Romance and Revelations**

Dull repetitive rhythm. Step ... step ... stumble ... step. Exhaustion dragged at every movement. Since her capture, Arana had lost count of the days. Her mind had become dull, the weeks of travel taking their toll.

It was raining yet again. It had rained a lot over the last few weeks of journeying, making the very air itself seem grey, and turning the dusty roads to mud. She was barefoot, her boots having long since been taken away, and her feet were cut, bruised and caked with mud. Their pace had never slowed, making at least twenty miles a day come rain or shine.

Arana watched the mage. He rode ahead, while she walked behind his horse, hands bound to it by a long rope. The rain bounced off a magical barrier that kept him dry. Arana could have done the same, but she well remembered the beatings that had accompanied any attempts to use magic. Bruises. Her body was covered in them. The mage had not yet attempted to actually question her, but had engaged in what he had described as 'softening up'. Sticks, sharp stones, even clubs conjured from the air itself had been used for this purpose. She'd been barely fed, marched to exhaustion.

She'd been left exposed to the elements, sleeping away from campfires, without a blanket or any kind of protection. She wished for death, but it eluded her. Worse, the treatment was beginning to work. She was losing the will and strength to resist, as day succeeded hungry day inexorably.

Her bare foot came down on a sharp stone and she stumbled, landing on her knees in the mud. No one stopped. Before her dulled senses could recover and force exhausted muscles to move, she was pulled onto her front and dragged along. Desperately, she tried to raise her head, but could not. Mud covered her face, forcing its way into her mouth, up her nose. She couldn't breathe!

The movement stopped. She raised herself onto her elbows and looked up. The mage was turned in his saddle, looking at her through the curtain of rain.

The loose rope snapped tight. Magical bonds lifted the it into the air until she was dragged back onto her feet. Without a word, the mage turned back round and the party continued on. Arana tried to keep up, but they were too fast and she no longer had the strength. Soon she was dangling from the rope, feet dragging along the ground. She felt the scrapes and cuts as if they were happening to some other body. Consciousness left her, and she fell into dark dreams. Mud and despair.

* * *

><p>Roran awoke early. In the darkness, he heard Eragon awaken and mutter in a low voice to Spring, who always curled up next to his bed. There was a rustling as he dressed himself, and then Roran heard the quiet creak of the ladder as he left their loft and went outside to go hunting.<p>

Once he was sure that they'd left, he rose and climbed down himself. He was just heading out the door when he heard Garrow's voice. "Where are you going son?"

Roran froze at the sound, and then turned round. "Now that's hardly fair. You don't mind Eragon going out at this time."

"Yes, but he goes out at this time every day. It's normal. You going out at this time is not normal."

Roran nodded. "Fair enough I suppose."

"Yes exactly. Now where are you going?"

Roran was glad that it was still dark inside, although it was getting lighter outside. This way, his father would be unable to spot his embarrassment. "Oh, um, I was just going to, err..."

A blind horse could have spotted Roran's embarrassment. There were many emotions that he was good at hiding. Embarrassment was not among them. He heard Garrow sigh.

"Son, we talked about this. You're off to the army soon. Don't start building relationships and feelings that you aren't going to be around to fulfil."

"But you never had a problem with me talking to her before. We've been friends from childhood."

"Talking in broad daylight during work or at evening gatherings when everyone is around is different to sneaking out early to spend time alone together, especially when you're about to leave. This is a very bad idea."

"Why is it?"

"What are you planning to do? Going out walking is all very nice, but what comes next? Do you want to marry her? Is Sloan happy with you addressing yourself to his daughter? His only child I might add."

"She said she'll wait for me to finish with the army, then we can marry when I get back."

"Really? What if you die? Or change your mind? Are you going to risk breaking her heart like that? Are you going to risk having your heart broken, if you return and find that she's found someone else in the mean time? You're young, Roran; don't start jumping into these things before you're ready."

The questions irritated Roran. It was too early for this. "Father, please. Let me handle this myself. I am not stupid."

Garrow's voice softened. "I know you aren't, son. But what kind of father would I be if I did not challenge you? You're old enough now to make your own decisions. I'll be around if it all goes pear shaped."

Roan turned to leave. "I know you will. Thank you father."

* * *

><p>Ahead there was a rise in the road. Mercifully, yesterday's rain had stopped and sunlight shone down. It seemed to Arana that it lent her energy and she was able to muster enough strength to stumble up the slope. They topped it and saw, in the middle distance, was the city of Gilead, in the shadow of the Black Mountains.<p>

Arana had heard of it, everyone had, but had never been there. A neophyte of the Shadolach she may once have been, but mere neophytes never went to Gilead. The mages liked to cultivate a good amount of corruption in the souls of their initiates before actually taking them to the Black Keep. In the Empire, it had the status of city, technically equal to the likes of great Dras-Leona in the east, or Rive-Kiera, the mighty sea port in the south, but it was a mere shadow compared to them.

It had quite obviously once been a thriving city. The roads were wide and paved; the civic buildings looked grand. But it was now much less than a mile across and the number of derelict buildings outnumbered those that were inhabited There were few people out on the streets. In the centre, built into a natural rock outcropping that the city itself had been built around, was Helgrind, headquarters of the Shadolach. A black stone fortress, built out of and into black rock. A dark, insubstantial haze hung in the air above, casting a shade on the city below. It was a place of gloom and fear.

The city had no walls. The buildings spread out and then just stopped, with a road running around the outside marking the boundary. Where any other town or city would have had at least a pallisade, this city had none; it did not need them. The presence of the mages put walls around peoples' minds such that physical walls were un-necessary. There were no bandits or robbers. Crime did not exist.

The mage turned around and said with false joviality. "Here we are, Arana. Soon you'll be telling all about our dragon egg as you enjoy our hospitality."

Arana steeled herself and looked him in the eye. "I'll die first."

The mage's expression turned ominous and Arana felt a chill as he spoke. "Believe me, you will not."

* * *

><p>Roran walked with Katrina through the woods. They laughed and joked, enjoying each other's company in the dawn light. At length, Roran turned the conversation to more serious ends.<p>

"I'll be going soon," he said.

Katrina nodded. "I know. I don't want you to."

He took her hand. "I know you don't. But I also know that your father is not very approving of us. An outland farmboy, he'll reject. An experienced soldier who's fought for the Palancar Valley, maybe not."

"I wish you wouldn't place that on him. He doesn't dislike you because you're not from Carvahall. Well, he does, but he doesn't _only_ dislike you because of that. I'm his only daughter; he'd dislike anyone who showed an interest in me."

Roran smiled reassuringly. "Of course, what father wouldn't? That's partly why I need to go. It's not just that I want to see the world, I need to prove myself to him as well."

"Why should you have to prove anything?" She said in frustration. "I love you as you are!"

"I wish that I didn't, really I do. But it's only three years. I'll be back before you know it." He tried to sound encouraging, but there was a lump in his throat.

Katrina took his other hand and he drew her into a hug. She whispered, "I'll wait for you."

Roran smiled as he rested his cheek on her golden head. "I know you will," he whispered back.

Katrina drew away. There was a glistening of tears around her eyes, but she grinned. "But don't take too long, you great lump, or I'll go and marry some old codger from the village. Then you'll be sorry!"

Roran was about to laugh, but then he spotted, in the bushes behind her, a familiar figure. Around ground level, Spring's head was poking out. A few feet above her, another head was poking out too.

"Eragon!" Roran shouted. "What are you doing here?" Katrina whirled around in shock.

Eragon grinned impudently from the bushes. "What am I doing here? I'm standing in a bush. What are _you_ doing here?"

Roran growled and lunged at the bushes. Eragon's face disappeared as he crashed into them. Spring darted out, just in time. They reappeared, grappling with each other. Roran caught sight of Katrina and froze, then he burst out laughing.

She was stood there, frozen, face as white as a sheet. Her terrified eyes were fixed on Spring and panicked noises where coming from her mouth. "Sssss ... ssssnnn ..." Spring had evidently found her interesting and was snuffling around the base of her dress. Eragon saw what was happening, called Spring over and picked her up. The silence was deafening.

Roran spoke. "This is awkward."

"W-what is THAT?" Katrina loudly found her voice.

"This?" Eragon replied. "This is Spring. She's a baby dragon."

"A baby what? A baby _dragon_? What is a baby dragon doing here?"

"Yeah, a baby dragon. And she's really sweet and friendly and wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Sweet? Friendly? It's a dragon! They used to eat people! We'll all be murdered in our beds!"

Eragon grew defensive. "_She_ would never eat anyone. Unless you're a rabbit. Are you a rabbit?"

Roran stepped between them. "That's enough, Eragon. Katrina, it's ok. She's completely harmless."

Katrina paused in mid rant, her mind obviously struggling with having heard 'dragon' and 'harmless' in the same sentence. Then she spoke again, voice calmer. "It ... She's ... harmless?"

Roran nodded reassuringly. "Completely. Here, Eragon." Eragon came over with Spring in his arms.

"She likes to be tickled behind the ears," he said.

Tentatively, Katrina reached out and stroked her ears. Spring let out a low rumble and her hand darted back.

Eragon laughed. "Don't worry, that's just her purring."

She reached forward again and Spring turned and licked her fingers.

Katrina smiled. "She's ... nice."

"She likes you as well," Roran said. "But you need to keep her a secret. If anyone finds out that she exists, we'll all be in trouble."

She nodded. "Don't worry, Rory. I'll not tell a soul." She turned away. "I need to get back, or else father will get suspicious."

"Ok. I'll come back with Eragon. See you later."

She left, Roran watching her go.

"Rory?" Eragon asked from beside him, the harmonics of mischief in his voice.

"Shut up," Roran replied evenly.

Eragon's voice became serious. "Do you think we can trust her?"

"Her? Oh yes, we can trust her alright," Roran replied. "Her father, I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"He worries me. I'm pretty certain that he knows there's something between us. I'm also pretty certain that he doesn't approve. I'll be going in a day or so, so look after her for me, won't you? I'm not sure what Sloan will do once I'm gone."

Eragon nodded. "Of course I will."

"And watch over yourself too. Father was telling me about him. He has a reputation for going to extremes if he really cares about something, which can be a bad thing as well as good. I would not trust him an inch where Spring is concerned."

"I'll be careful. Tell me truthfully: Given what her father thinks of you, are you willing to tolerate him for the rest of your life?"

The answer was immediate. "For her? Yes, I would."


End file.
